


Synergy

by lucifersfavoritechild



Series: Ironstrange Fics [25]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Dark Tony Stark, Eventual Romance, Kamar-Taj, M/M, Mentions of Stephen/Others, Plot, Prophecies, SHIELD, Slow Burn, Slutty Stephen Strange, Villain Stephen Strange, gradually increasing plotiness, mix of dark/crack/drama, not team Cap friendly, some canon elements changed some kept, stalker Stephen Strange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24641071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifersfavoritechild/pseuds/lucifersfavoritechild
Summary: It was like the world shifted, and something grand and unknowable slotted into place. For a moment, Stephen could only stare, stunned by the color and emotion. Tony hid absolutely nothing from his face, and Stephen could clearly see his energy, fear, anger, and defiance.No longer thinking correctly, the sword faded from Stephen’s trembling hands. The sorcerer fell to his knees, straddling the waist of the gold-and-red suit as he lowered himself to stare fully at Tony Stark, now only inches from his face with a hand on either side of his head.“ . . . Hi,” Tony said, holding very still.Stephen smiled in response. “Hello.”|Stephen Strange is obsessed with Tony Stark, who's mostly just irritated that he hasn't found a way to defeat the sorcerer . . . at first.
Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Series: Ironstrange Fics [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1095672
Comments: 144
Kudos: 517
Collections: Waiting for updates, Works worth reading a million times over





	1. Meet Cute

Stephen Strange woke up in a great mood. His friend, Mordo, lay in his bed as Stephen woke early and showered, singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” at the top of his lungs as he did. After he summoned his clothes, he made his coffee with far more espresso than was medically recommended, messed around with the Eye of Agamotto before being told off by the Ancient One (again), and was in the middle of training a group of novices when the Ancient One summoned him and Mordo to her quarters.

“SHIELD has something of ours,” she said, quietly and calmly as she did everything, sipping her tea and not bothering to look up from her book. “I want you to retrieve it.”

So now they were doing just that, off to find an important book from the superhero-wannabes. If he could get stop by his favorite French pastry shop after this was done, he would be ready to mark it down as a perfect day.

What he got was even better than a box of macarons (and that was saying something - he was always done for some overpriced sugary treats). Of all people, the _Avengers_ showed up to fight them. Stephen was practically giddy. For a shadowy organization of power-seeking sorcerers, they dealt with surprisingly few proper-superheroes, and he was excited to try his hand against them. 

He volunteered to fight the heroes while Mordo retrieved the book. Mordo, by then used to his antics, sighed when at him, but Stephen had apparently built up enough trust that he was allowed to wander off on his own. In the main building of S.H.I.E.L.D., after the office employees were evacuated and the computer systems were deactivated, the Avengers were deployed to meet them.

Frustratingly, the human threats were easy to handle. He dropped Hawkeye and Black Widow into portals that opened into themselves, keeping them permanently falling unless someone managed to catch them. For Captain America, a quick twist of the Eye hanging from his neck trapped him into a time loop that restarted every ten seconds.

The Hulk wasn’t there, probably because they were in a building with a lot of glass that S.H.I.E.L.D. doubtless wanted to preserve. Stephen couldn’t help but pout at that. Thor was there though, and he was strong and muscular, which Stephen was definitely a fan of, but he found it simultaneously amusing and disappointing to open a portal when the demigod threw Mjolnir at him, sending it halfway across the galaxy.

Thor stared at him awkwardly. “Where-”

Stephen cut his opponent off by tying him up in a set of burning red ropes. He smiled at the choked-off gasp that came from the glowing red and blonde bundle. “What was that? You’re a bit tied up-”

Something suddenly hit him from behind, lifting him off the ground and driving him forward into a wall. Stephen yelped painfully, turning to face his attacker with a put-upon pout. “ _Rude.”_

Iron Man stood before him, posing menacingly. “Oh sorry, that was my bad.” As an apology, he started firing mini-missiles at him.

Stephen met this with a Seraphim Shield, absorbing fire for almost a minute before Iron Man switched tactics, flying forward and trying to lift him up. Stephen danced around him with the Cloak of Levitation, failing to coax him through a portal and falling back.

They tried a variety of attacks against each other - magic swords, ropes, and bolts of energy from Stephen, firepower and sheer force from the Avenger - but nothing worked. They were too evenly matched in power, speed, and intelligence, intercepting or predicting each other’s attacks, not allowing them to hit at full power.

Despite his usual annoyance at losing, Stephen realized he was enjoying himself. It was the first time he’d ever fought an enemy who was a real match for him, and he was grinning with joy and excitement, feeling his cheeks flush from exertion.

He groaned when a pair of metal gauntlets wrapped around his throat, holding him to the ground. The sorcerer shifted against the metal body that pressed against him, just managing to squeak out, “ _Harder_.”

He would have killed to see the look on Tony Stark’s face (not an exaggeration). Iron Man let him go as quickly as possible, and Stephen easily rolled away once he did, summoning his orange mandalas and preparing to start the fight again

Until he saw Mordo run in, holding the sacred Book of the Vishanti. “Strange!” 

Iron Man turned to see him, and Stephen took advantage of his momentary distraction to wrap a set of glowing gold chains around each of his arms, pulling the suited hero to the ground. _Oh, well._ All good things must come to an end. A few magic-strengthened kicks and a quick hand tore the helmet away, and Stephen summoned the Sword of the Vishanti to finish off his opponent—

And came face-to-face with the deep brown eyes of Tony Stark.

It was like the world shifted, and something grand and unknowable slotted into place. For a moment, Stephen could only stare, stunned by the color and emotion. Tony hid absolutely nothing from his face, and Stephen could clearly see his energy, fear, anger, and defiance. 

No longer thinking correctly, the sword faded from Stephen’s trembling hands. The sorcerer fell to his knees, straddling the waist of the gold-and-red suit as he lowered himself to stare fully at Tony Stark, now only inches from his face with a hand on either side of his head.

“ . . . Hi,” Tony said, holding _very_ still.

Stephen smiled in response. “Hello.”

Then Mordo pulled him backwards, dragging him through a portal to Kamar-Taj. Stephen pouted, watching Tony as the portal faded out of existence, leaving only the gray stones and pale sky of the courtyard.

“Strange!” Mordo held his face, looking him up and down with clear concern in his dark eyes. His thumb brushed over a bruise on Stephen’s cheek. “Are you alright?”

For a moment, Stephen only stared at his friend. Then, slowly and without any thought, his lips curled into a smile, combining with his dreamy eyes to make him look like a madman. “I’m in love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well ... this has been a long time coming


	2. One White Chocolate Mocha With 12 Shots Of Espresso

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *warning for voyeurism and stalker behavior

At first, Stephen's declaration only made the sorcerers roll their eyes. It was nothing new for him. In the past, Stephen had declared himself in love with Wong, Mordo, Fabio, Beyoncé, a photo of himself, and the unicorn drink from Starbucks — and this was by no means an exhaustive list. But he insisted that _this time_ was different, although he took the good-natured ribbing and (less good-natured) eye rolls of the others with all of the maturity that was expected from a sorcerer of his station.

“You don't _understand_ ,” he whined as the Ancient One flipped through the book they'd taken from SHIELD. “Tony Stark is special, I can feel it in my _soul_.”

“He certainly is,” she said absently. “He's one of the most important superheroes in the world and a founding member of the Avengers. I'd expect him to be at least somewhat special.”

He huffed. “You know that's not what I meant.”

She peered over at him, snapping the book shut. “No, I don't suppose it is.” She looked at him for a moment, blue eyes icy and far away. Before Stephen could question it, she thrust her hands out, handing the book to him. “I want you to read this.”

Stephen, brows furrowed, looked at it. _The Sacred Book Of The Vishanti_ was one of the most ancient texts on Earth, and central to their beliefs. It had been lost for decades, but now it was returned, right where it belonged.

Stephen took it curiously, scarred hands trembling under the weight. “Thought you'd want to give this to Wong.”

“You'll find more use in it,” she said cryptically . . . which was the only way she ever spoke. “In the meantime, you might enjoy paying Stark a visit every now and then.”

He looked up in surprise, face twisting into a genuine smile. “I didn't think you'd want me to.”

“Normally you’re right. And if you're right about him, then he could be important to us. And if not . . .” She smiled. “Well. We all need to blow off steam every now and then.”

* * *

He did end up paying Iron Man a visit that night. Only the hero didn’t realize it.

The Avengers were gathered in a conference room at Stark Tower, Steve Rogers standing before a screen and droning on and on and _on_ , wearing his Extra Serious face. Stephen couldn't help but laugh when he saw they were talking about them, the screen showing images of himself and Mordo from the fight.

 _I look good at that angle,_ he thought before taking note of what Rogers was saying.

“. . . Stephen Strange, a former neurosurgeon at the Metro General in New York City.” Rogers changed the slides, showing another picture of him and, _Ugh, c'mon, no one looks good in their ID photos._ "Apparently he was pretty important before a car accident wrecked his hands and career."

"Wow, could you _be_ anymore insensitive?" Stephen asked before remembering he was in his astral form and no one could hear him.

Steve clicked on, oblivious to Stephen sticking his tongue out at him. “Fury says they took _this_.” The screen changes, showing an image of the most holy of the sorcerers' texts, handwritten by the youngest member of the Vishanti, Agamotto himself. "It seemed like an old book.”

_Yeah, no duh._

“Fury says they recently acquired it under classified circumstances, but were unable to translate it. It doesn’t appear to have been written in any known language . . .”

Stephen zoned out at that point since he knew everything that Good Captain was talking about, choosing instead to sit on the table in front of Tony. He played at swinging his legs through the other man’s torso, taking in every line of his face, every freckle, the waves of his hair, and the subtle differences in his eye color. Occasionally he spoke up, sometimes with a snarky comment or joke, but sometimes seriously. Stephen found he liked the sound of Tony Stark’s voice.

The meeting eventually ended, and the Avengers dispersed, bruised and tired. Stephen followed Tony, floating before and around him. The Avenger let out a breath of relief when he appeared in the private penthouse, the elevator shutting behind him. He didn’t bother to wait until he was in the bathroom to begin undressing, pulling his jacket and t-shirt off and dropping them on the floor in the living room and the hallway. The arc reactor in his chest glowed pale blue.

Stephen watched through the steaming-hot water as Tony bathed, drawing a bar of expensive, spice-scented soap over his sore, supple limbs muscles. He was beautiful like this, quiet and oddly vulnerable when he thought no one was watching.

Tony didn’t bother to get dressed when he got out of the shower, simply slipping into bed after drying off. “J, lights off.”

Stephen waited until Tony was sleeping comfortably to gently draw his fingers through Tony’s dark locks of hair. Tony still couldn’t feel him this way, but Stephen liked to think he still knew on some level.

He sat cross-legged on the pillow beside Tony’s head, leaning over him like a guardian angel before he vanished, falling back into his body without leaving a trace that he was ever there.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Tony started to think the sorcerer he’d fought had done something to make him go insane.

He saw Stephen Strange everywhere he went. When he walked into the tower, there was a flash of dark blue beyond the doors. Waking up in the morning, he imagined seeing someone with dark hair lying beside him. In the shower, he always seemed to be inches away from brushing up against someone with long expanses of pale skin and thin scars.

He was standing on a curb, waiting for a gyro from the halal truck parked near the tower, when he did a double-take, seeing someone he instinctively _knew_ was Strange. The face was right, but the hair, carefully curled and tousled, was pale blonde rather than black, and he was wearing a long brown coat.

The more he looked, the more he doubted his eyes. The guy was just standing there, sipping his fucking Starbucks coffee and waiting for the light to change before he could cross the street. Plus, he was standing kind of far away, and his cheekbones weren’t _that_ sharp. And besides, would some rando-villain he fought _once_ really bother to pick up his coffee outside of the tower on the off chance that Tony saw him—

Just as Tony was about to look away, the man turned and looked at him. He smirked as his hair rippled, turning black and silver as his clothes transformed into deep-blue robes. Stephen Strange saluted him while taking a long sip of coffee. Then he stepped backwards into a portal, disappearing from the street.

Tony stared at the spot where he’d been, anger bubbling up in him as he shouted, “ _MOTHERF_ —”


	3. Of Black Holes And Bondage

“We have to stop bumping into each other like this.”

Tony instinctively activated his boosters, flying to the top of the domed museum ceiling while looking down at the sorcerer. Stephen Strange smirked, leaning against a pillar.

“What will people say?” The sorcerer seemed unperturbed by Tony aiming his repulsors at him, standing on his heels and tracing Tony’s movements with his blue-green eyes. He’d shaved recently, and his hair seemed especially soft today . . . not that Tony noticed.

“Probably, ‘Oh my God, stop shooting him, he’s dead, he’s dead’. If I had to guess.”

“Ouch. You _wound_ me, Tony, you’re breaking my delicate heart.” Strange put his glove-covered hands over his chest, swooning dramatically.

“We’re not on a first-name basis.”

“Cruel. Must your heart be as cold as the metal you wear?”

“If it’ll shut you up.” Tony fired then, but Stephen barely moved, waving one hand so that the blasts dissolved into a shower of sparkling lights. Tony resisted the urge to groan.

“It’s not very heroic to fire first, now is it?” Tony whipped around shooting again when he caught Strange over his shoulder. Another second, and he was gone.

“Well, most people don’t consider it polite to start a fight and get dozens of people hurt while stealing from a museum.” He looked around until he found Strange again, now looking down on him from a balcony.

Stephen coyly looked down at him. “Why, Mister Stark. Are you going to . . .” He bat his lashes. “ _Punish_ me?”

“If that’s how you want to think of it.”

Stephen chuckled, rolling onto his back and looking up at the ceiling. “I used to love this museum when I was in college. Started dating a security guard and fucked in the planetarium after hours. Ah, memories. Hey, want a tour? I’ve always found the Black Hole Theater to be . . . stimulating.”

“If you’re asking me to look at your hole with a telescope, I’m gonna pass.”

Stephen purred.

“ _Sir_ ,” Friday said urgently, voice reverberating in his ears, “ _the Avengers are losing the fight on the terrace._ ”

“Fuck,” Tony muttered. Judging by the giddy look on Stephen’s face, he knew what was happening too. “Well, if you’re just gonna waste my time—” Tony made to leave, but was wrenched back suddenly, his hands pulled behind him and bound to something. He managed to turn his head enough to recognize the shining orange bands holding him to a pillar.

“Whoops,” Stephen said innocently. “My bad.”

Tony tugged at the whips, but couldn’t move more than a few inches. He groaned in irritation. “What now, Strange? Are you gonna turn me into a statue and keep me in your creepy magic sex dungeon?”

“No. I’m not allowed to use the sex dungeon anymore, I’m on probation. Three strikes.”

“. . . Don’t know if I’m curious or terrified.”

“Both is fine.” Stephen materialized in front of him, sauntering up and trailing a gloved hand over the chest of the Iron Man suit, laying it against the glowing arc reactor. “But I’d be willing to make a trade.”

Tony froze, the back of his neck heating up. “I’m not your prostitute, Strange—”

“No, nothing that crude. But . . . maybe I could convince my friends to withdraw. No injuries, deaths, expensive property damage that you have to pay for . . .”

Tony eyed him suspiciously. “In exchange for?”

“How about . . .” Stephen was standing _very_ close, enough that the swaying hem of his tunic brushed against the red-and-gold thighs of the Iron Man suit. “A kiss?”

_Of course._ “Seriously?”

Stephen nodded. “One kiss, with you, on the lips, no take-backs or ways out. Fair deal?”

Tony made a renewed effort at pulling himself away from the bands holding him in place, to no avail. _Fucking asshole._ “Fine!” His helmet retracted, leaving him blinking in the low, blue-tinted light. Stephen was close enough that he could practically feel the sorcerer’s gentle breaths, could make out pale freckles and the point at which his irises turned from blue to green. “Go ahead, get it over with.”

Stephen pressed against him, the light of the arc reactor bright against his robes. His hands settled at the base of Tony’s uncovered neck, playing with his hair. In this suit, he was a few inches taller than the sorcerer, and Stephen had to lean up on his toes, taking his time to nuzzle Tony’s neck and cheek, making the Avenger blush. Tony let his eyes drift shut as Stephen prepared to kiss him . . .

“Later.”

Stephen backed up as the bonds that held Tony suddenly came undone, allowing the Avenger to stumble forward. Tony stared at him, stunned. “What?”

Stephen shrugged. “I’m not feeling it right now. Don’t worry, though.” He smirked. “You can owe me.”

Then he disappeared, leaving Tony to watch the spot where he’d been standing, wondering what kind of stupid joke this was. “Goddamn— FUCK YOU, STRANGE!”

Officially peeved, Tony stormed out of the Hall of Ocean Life, feeling as though the fake blue whale hanging from the ceiling was judging him with its glass eyes.

He met up with the other Avengers outside. They looked like they’d had an even worse time than him. Steve was noticeably limping, and Clint had a bloody hand holding his arm. Bruce still seemed green despite now being in nerdy professor form, vomiting into a bush as he was.

Rhodey’s helmet retracted as Tony joined them, panting hard and nodding at his friend. “Where’d you end up?”

“Strange led me on a goose chase inside. You guys look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Yeah, that probably would’ve been easier.” He looked around. “Don’t know what’s going on with these assholes. They all just disappeared a minute ago.”

_Well, at least he held up his end_ , Tony thought begrudgingly. “You know what they were looking for?”

“Who cares,” Clint groaned, wincing as Natasha sewed up the gash on his arm. “Probably just stirring up trouble for the fun of it.”

Tony nodded slowly. “You’re probably right.” He took Clint’s free arm and helped him to the Quinjet, ignoring the strange, disappointed feeling in his stomach.

* * *

Stephen was busy translating the _Book Of The Vishanti_ when out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Tony turning over in bed, grumbling something in his sleep. He looked at the sleeping Avenger, closing the book. “Hm?”

Tony’s blankets were pulled around him, facing frowning. He didn’t speak, hardly made a noise, but it wasn’t long before he was thrashing around, throwing an arm through Stephen’s glowing lap.

Stephen allowed the book to fade back into Kamar-Taj and moved to lean over Tony’s head. “What’s going on in here?” He pressed a hand to Tony’s hair and shut his eyes, allowing his magic to flow through Tony and back into him, like a wave looping back.

_Darkness. Stars, too far away to provide any light or warmth. Falling, unable to control himself. The Iron Man suit, a coffin he made for himself. Enemies, dark, invisible, unknowable, closing in on all sides. Water, pressing on top, crushing his body, filling his lungs, drowning him, killing him_ —

Stephen let go then, hearing Tony whimper in the dark. His heart ached.

“Oh, Tony,” he whispered, materializing in the room so he could brush a strand of hair from Tony’s face. He looked so scared. “I’ve got you.”

His hand covered Tony’s forehead as he peered into the hero’s mind, like wading through an ocean of darkness and confusion. Mental magic was difficult even for sorcerers with years more experience than him, but he felt around for what he was looking for, that little bundle of fear and pain and anxiety . . .

_Gotcha._ When he sensed what he was looking for, he reached out and grabbed hold of it. It was a strange feeling, uncomfortable. Like cold water running down his back. But he clenched his hands shut, holding the feelings tight in his grip as he _pulled_ , wrenching it out—

Stephen’s eyes shot open as the nightmare suddenly dissolved into a shower of shining orange sparks, gone. He smiled, looking down at Tony and petting his hair. “There you go. No more nightmares.” _In fact . . ._ He allowed a few tendrils of his own magic to flow through his shaking hands and into Tony’s head, pale strands of blue and green. It was difficult to transform a person’s conscious thoughts, but their _dreams . . ._ well, that was a bit easier.

“Good night, sweet prince,” Stephen quoted, a soft, victorious smile on his face, “and may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest as you dream of me.”

Tony woke the next morning with the afterimage of Stephen Strange's carved marble face in his eyes. On the other side of the world, Stephen smiled and thought of the Avenger as he fell asleep.


	4. Babe!

Stephen’s eyes blurred as he drew his trembling, scarred fingers down a page, trying to concentrate. “Mordo, do you know what any of this says?”

Mordo was lying beside him in bed, tracing patterns over the divot of Stephen’s hip bone. “I haven’t read it. Won’t you go to sleep? All you ever do is study and fight and fuck.”

Stephen smirked. “I’ve never heard you complain.”

“Maybe not about the last one,” Mordo grumbled, sitting up and looking over Stephen’s shoulder. He frowned. “This is all nonsense to me. Just . . . images.”

That was not an inaccurate description. _The Sacred Book Of The Vishanti_ was filled with overlapping pictures, shapes, patterns, lines, and colors that twisted and bled together seemingly at random. That’s what it looked like to Stephen at first glance.

But . . . if he looked at it long enough, the pictures rearranged themselves into words. Not in any language he knew, but words he _understood_.

He put the book to the side and waited for Mordo to fall asleep before getting up and pulling on his clothes. Quietly closing the door behind him, he made his way through the long, dim hallways of Kamar-Taj, emerging in the courtyard. He had to pull his cloak closer around him to avoid the freezing rain that was falling, the book tucked under his armpit.

He smiled when he opened the library door and saw Wong standing inside, reading. “Babe!”

Wong sighed as soon as he heard him, letting his forehead fall forward on the desk. “Strange. What do you want now?”

Stephen bounded over to his table, sliding the book towards him. “This is the book Mordo and I picked up from SHIELD a few weeks back. Wondering if you had any insight. It’s weird.”

Wong frowned, but now he seemed genuinely curious, carefully flipping the book open. “Weird how?”

“Mordo can’t read it. I can _barely_ read it. And the Ancient One wanted me to have it.”

“A sound definition of weird.” He looked through a few more pages before shaking his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Stephen jumped up on the table and down on the other side, moving to lean over Wong’s shoulder. “Are you sure?”

Wong glared at him. “I need to finish Stephen-proofing the library. _Yes_ , I’m sure. Now get out of my library before I ban you for a month. _Again._ ”

Well, he didn’t need to be told eight times. Seven did well enough.

He was still thinking of it the next day, walking into the Ancient One’s chambers and pausing when he saw her levitating in the middle of the room, head moving back and forth in streaks of color as the Eye around her neck glowed green.

“Is this a bad time?”

The Ancient One froze, staring forward before suddenly blinking and smiling at Stephen. “Master Strange. You haven’t been paying as much attention to the novices lately.”

“I hate teaching.” He plopped down in front of her, legs-crossed as he laid the book between them. “What the fuck is this thing? It’s been giving me migraines for weeks now and you didn’t even bother to tell me what it was.”

The Ancient One opened the book, passing over the pages with a fond smile. “I remember the first time I read this. Difficult, but rewarding. I assume you’ve already shown Wong and Mordo?”

“You know me too well.”

She chuckled. “That won’t work. Very few people could even get through a page of this. Most would go insane before getting that far. It was not meant for mortal minds.”

“I mean, I got like, a quarter of the way through . . .”

The Ancient One smiled cryptically (again). “Exactly.” She shut the book and pushed it back into his hands. “You’ll finish in your own time. All will happen as it was meant to.”

“. . . Does that mean this conversation is over?”

* * *

Stephen was sitting in the Starbucks outside Stark Tower, drinking a mocha and checking his phone when he saw the news. He stared at his gently glowing screen. “ _Fuck._ ”

He didn’t bother to finish his drink before portalling back to Kamar-Taj (and causing a small stir in street). He ignored several calls of his name from the other sorcerers as he ran out to the courtyard, looking for—

“Ancient One!”

She was standing under a tree while speaking to Master Hamir, fanning herself when he came running up. “Stephen!”

He paused briefly to bow before speaking. “Do you know what’s happening in Sokovia?”

The Ancient One’s smile faded. She turned back to Master Hamir to say, “A moment, please.” When he was gone, she returned her attention to Stephen. “Yes.”

“They’re fighting _now_. Do you think we should . . .”

She arched a brow. “Help?”

Stephen huffed. “Well, there’s no point in being powerful if we don’t have a planet anymore.”

“Very true.” He noticed she was wearing the Eye of Agamotto again. “However, I have already seen that the Avengers will persevere on their own. They have no need of our intervention.” She paused, seeming to consider whether or not she should continue. “And I believe that the circumstances will align in our favor if we leave them be.” When she saw the disheartened look on his face, she touched his arm gently. “Don’t fear. Everything is coming together as planned.”

He nodded, looking at the stone floor. “I believe you.”

* * *

Tony sighed when he recognized the person coming to sit beside him at the bar, staring into his drink. “What are you doing here, Strange?”

Stephen smiled mysteriously. “Maybe I came because there’s an important artifact buried in this building that I’ve been sent to retrieve. Maybe I came for the kiss you owe me. Maybe I plan to kill everyone in this bar . . . Or maybe I just came to get a drink and see how you’re doing.” He waved the bartender over. “Hi, can I get something expensive, pink, fruity, and super alcoholic? Thanks.”

The sorcerer was silent as the bartender made his drink, and Tony took the time to look him over. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen him out of his magic clothes, but he’d definitely dressed up, wearing a sleek blue turtleneck with a black tulle skirt, so long it took Tony a minute to notice the high-heeled boots he had on. Tony was drunk enough to admit, if only to himself, that it was a good look.

Stephen took a long sip from his drink before speaking. “Sokovia looked tough.”

Tony sucked in a breath, looking away from him. “Yeah, well, it _was_ , so.”

“You got through it, though.”

The Avenger laughed harshly. “Not all of us.”

They passed a minute in awkward silence. Then, “I’m sorry.” When Tony looked into those blue-green-grey eyes, he thought it was true. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

Tony shook his head before downing the rest of his drink. “It was all my fault.”

“I doubt that,” Stephen said softly. “Then again, I don’t really _get_ the whole hero-complex thing, so.”

He couldn’t help the laugh that was startled out of him. When he looked at the sorcerer again, they were both smiling. “So . . .” Tony called the waiter over and asked him to refill the drink before continuing. “Plan on collecting your kiss any time soon?” He tried not to sound eager. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

Stephen considered him for a moment before shaking his head. “Not tonight, at least.” He looked at the black-and-red suit Tony was wearing appreciatively. “Wouldn’t mind a quick look, though.”

“You ruined the moment.”

“Eh, worth a shot.” Stephen picked his glass up as he slid off his stool. Somehow, there was money at his place on the bar even though he hadn’t left any. “Well, call me if you need me.”

“I don’t have your phone number.” Tony wanted to smack himself. Because _that_ was the only problem with this.

“You’re smart. Figure it out.” He walked away then, taking his drink with him. Tony spent a long time trying to convince himself he wasn’t staring at the sorcerer’s ass.

It occurred to him the next morning, when he was hungover with a pounding headache, that none of that had been a normal interaction with an evil arch-nemesis.


	5. Foreplay

Tony stared at the TV, a sense of dread building at the base of his spine. It had been over a month, but news channels kept showing footage from Sokovia and talking about the Avengers, their response to the attack, speculation about what had caused Ultron ( _Me_ ), suspicion toward Wanda and where Bruce had gone, calls for further regulation of the Avengers.

Tony wanted to turn it off; he couldn’t. He had to watch, had to know what was going on so he could protect the group, even if he hadn’t spoken to most of them in weeks (except for Rhodey, ever-faithful Rhodey), even if the stress was giving him a permanent headache, even if seeing people die because of his mistakes made him want to curl up in his room and never come out—

When the alert for an attack came, he couldn’t go fast enough.

* * *

  
  
Stephen watched from the top of an abandoned building, occasionally shouting out instructions to the red-robed sorcerers fighting the Avengers. “Don’t try to sneak up on her, it doesn’t work!” “Kick him low, he’s just wearing stupid leather pants!” “Insult the flag, he _hates_ that!”

In spite of his initial relief for something to do, Tony couldn’t help his irritation when Stephen wouldn’t even fight himself. He finally snapped when one of the baby wizards almost tore his helmet off. Tony broke tugged hard on the whip she’d wrapped around him, throwing her up into the sky and not bothering to see if she made it back down. Then he flew away from the fight and didn’t stop until he landed behind Strange, who just looked at him with that insufferable grin. “What the hell, Strange? What’s your game?”

He didn’t really expect an answer, or at least not an _honest_ one, but Stephen seemed determined to surprise him lately. “We like to set inexperienced apprentices on ‘heroes’. Good practice for when they have to face something _actually_ dangerous, without getting them killed.” He smirked, then laughed gleefully when Tony wrapped his gauntlet-covered hands around the sorcerer’s neck and threw them both over the edge of the building.

* * *

Tony was still irritated when he went up on the roof of Stark Tower that night, lying in a chair with a blanket drawn over him as he searched for stars amongst the light-polluted sky. He found none.

He wondered what it said about him that he didn’t even blink when Stephen Strange pulled up a chair beside him, settling down with a sigh and a glass of wine. “Have you ever seen a star up close? Felt its warmth?”

Tony shook his head.

“You should. Most beautiful thing in the world. Much better than oceans. I never cared for swimming. But space is nice. Like an ocean with no water. Vast, quiet, endless. Stars make noise, did you know that?”

Tony faced him for the first time that night. “I did, actually.”

“You probably don’t hear it right. When you listen properly it sounds like they’re singing. It’s the most beautiful melody in the universe, starsong, and most people never hear it. I think I’d like to make them listen.”

“I don’t know,” Tony said, surprising himself when he spoke. “I had a bad experience with space. Almost died there.”

“Most people die on Earth. Not really better or worse.” He leaned forward, one trembling hand coming so close to Tony’s cheek, but never touching. He wasn’t wearing his gloves for once, and Tony could see that his fingers had pink scars running down the middle. “If you let me, I’d show it to you properly. Stars singing, dying, being born, planets too strange for fiction, colors and people and magic and _worlds_ you can’t even imagine.”

Tony scoffed, turning away from him so Stephen couldn’t see the conflicted emotions in his eyes. “No thanks.”

Stephen was undeterred, relaxing back in his chair. “You’ll trust me one day, Stark.”

“Maybe when you stop trying to kill me.”

“Who says I want to kill you? I’ve killed things much bigger than you. Our fights are just . . . flirting.”

“I’m flattered.” Tony yawned, stretching out over chair with his legs hanging over the arm. “If that’s flirting, what’s this?”

“Foreplay.”

Tony turned to glare at the overpowered wizard, but Stephen’s gone by the time he does, with only an empty wine glass left behind to convince Tony he hadn’t been a hallucination. He wondered if that would be better.

* * *

He didn’t see Stephen Strange, or _any_ hint of magic, for more than a month. Although the sorcerer was still living rent-free in his mind, Tony spent his daylight hours doing damage control with the media and the government, making upgrades to the Iron Man armor, and helping Wanda and Vision adjust to life as Avengers. The last of these somehow proved to be the most stressful. He wanted to be nice and thoughtful and understanding, the sort of person he’d needed after he came back from Afghanistan, but sometimes just looking at Wanda was enough to send him back to that vision. Enemies flying through the dark space around him, the color red in his eyes, his friends dead and dying on the ground because of him . . .

Tony wasn’t even surprised when Stephen showed up in his workshop at four in the morning. _Annoyed_ , yes.

“Hey,” Stephen said, lying on his back on a table that had been occupied by blueprints and empty coffee mugs a minute ago. The robes and layered belt he normally wore were gone, leaving his long-sleeved undershirt and trousers. His sharp cheeked were flushed with color, and his lips seemed bruised, recently kissed. It didn’t take long for Tony to deduce that the cheeky smile on his face was one of post-sex glow. The thought pissed him off as much as the invasion of his privacy.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“It’s not exactly a hard building to find. It’s a skyscraper in the middle of Manhattan with a giant ‘A’ on it—”

Tony reached for a gauntlet he’d been making adjustments to, put it on, and shot at Stephen with the repulsor. The sorcerer rolled off the table at the last moment, ducking up to look at him. He didn’t stop smiling. “Kinky.”

Tony ignored the comment in favor of blasting him again while he called one of the suits to him. It formed over his body as Stephen flexed his arms and hands, summoning a pair of orange mandalas. He danced around the workshop while Tony shot at him, uncaring towards the papers and tools and abandoned models he blew up.

Tony was so intent on his attack that he barely noticed he was getting too close. Then the suit was gone, and he dropped a few inches back to the floor as glowing, burning ropes wrapped around his chest and legs and neck, holding him still in the center of the workshop. Stephen grinned as Tony squirmed uncomfortably, sweat beading on his forehead from the painful heat.

Stephen sauntered closer, leaning down to brush his nose along Tony’s pulse point, tracing his way up the hero’s neck and to his ear. He paused suddenly, his hands on Tony’s waist seeming icy old in comparison to the ropes before one of them moved, the pads of his fingers gently brushing over Tony’s forehead.

“There’s a trace of magic here, in your mind. Something . . . red and angry. Did you know that?”

Tony shook his head slowly, thinking. _Why_ —

He shouted in pain as something in his head suddenly _wrenched_ , turning and twisting before being ripped out. His eyes widened, dark and staring at the bundle of glinting _something_ in Stephen’s hand before it dissolved into sparks and smoke and air.

The ropes holding him suddenly vanished, and Tony stumbled back, gasping in air. Stephen didn’t seem to notice. “Manipulation magic. Looked like the Red Bitch’s crap. Luckily for you, I have a bit of experience—”

Tony grabbed hold of Stephen’s shirt and threw him against a wall, holding him there. Stephen blinked in surprise, looking at him.

“Do _not_ ,” Tony grit out angrily, “fuck around in my head, you _asshole_.”

Stephen tried to look apologetic, but mostly just seemed confused. “I was only trying to help.”

“Yeah? Well next time, maybe _fucking ask!_ ” He let go roughly, backing up to give himself some space. Stephen didn’t move, watching him. “Will you just . . . just _leave_?”

Stephen didn’t make a noise when he left, but Tony knew. He felt the shift in the air with a twinge of something inside him, and wondered if maybe he didn’t really want the sorcerer to leave.

* * *

Stephen spent much of that night thinking as he sat on Tony’s bed, watching over his beloved Avenger. Tony was sleeping well, as he had been for the past two months. Stephen knew if he checked that he would be dreaming of the sorcerer, of his own blue-green eyes and lingering laughter, the way he moved in battle and what he looked like naked.

He sighed, leaning over his crush. “I’m going to regret this . . .” He placed his hands on Tony’s temples, searching for the thin, web-like traces of magic he’d left in the hero’s head weeks ago. He pulled on it carefully, untangling it from the other parts of Tony’s mind, his thoughts and memories, hopes and fears. It was harder to remove than it had been to put in, taking him the better part of an hour, but when it was done, Tony’s mind felt as though it had never been touched by magic. He ended up staying longer than he’d planned. When Stephen finally left, he stopped to press a kiss to two of his fingers before pressing them to Tony’s forehead.

 _Besides_ , he thought as he fell into bed, _I don’t think Tony needs magic to dream of me._


	6. I Masturbate To You Often

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *masturbation scene in this chapter*

When Stephen showed up again later in the week, seeming contrite and bringing a bottle of rum to the rooftop as a gift, Tony accepted a glass before punching him in the face.

Stephen stared at him for a long moment before laughing, a manic grin spreading over his face. “Why Mister Stark . . .”

They exchanged blows on Avengers Tower, moving towards and away from each other like they were dancing. Tony took out all his anger and annoyance and petty frustrations on the sorcerer, and Stephen fired back with light displays that blinded him, energy shields, and portals, but rarely tried to do anything that would cause more than a couple of hours of pain and soreness.

Sometimes fighting was all they did. Often they spoke. Tony would rant about the board members at S.I., about the Avengers, about Wanda and Vision, about senators and the U.N. He never gave away anything important, but it was a relief to have someone willing to just sit back and listen while he went off. Occasionally Stephen would offer his own input, but usually he just lied on the edge of the roof and nodded sagely as Tony complained about Steve leaving coffee grounds in the sink.

On the nights when Stephen was feeling especially chatty, he’d talk about his own problems. Training new sorcerers, Mordo’s irritation with him, and someone named Wong kicking him out of a library. Half the time Tony didn’t have the foggiest idea who he was talking about, but Stephen didn’t mind. He was less secretive than Tony, not seeming to care if he gave away sensitive info. Tony doubted the sorcerer really saw them as a threat. His own research into where the sorcerers were hiding or doing whatever they did when they weren’t getting on his nerves hadn’t turned anything up yet. He was starting to doubt it ever would.

When he admitted that to Stephen, the sorcerer laughed. “Looking for me, huh? This not enough for you?” He was lying on his chest, legs crossed in the air as he swayed his feet. “I bet you think of me all night when I leave.”

“I think about you a lot,” Tony admitted. He would have stopped then, but Stephen stilled, watching him. He couldn’t stop with those ocean eyes looking at him like that. There were lying close to each other. Stephen smelled like jasmine and sandalwood and oranges. “I think about what you’re doing, who you’re fighting and where you are and when I’ll see you again. Sometimes I think I’ll never be able to think of anything else.”

“I think about you too,” Stephen. “I masturbate to you often.”

Then Tony choked on his scotch, and Stephen laughed before vanishing into the night.

That should have been the end of it, but Tony couldn’t stop thinking of what Stephen said. He took a long, cold shower before shuffling off to bed. Earlier he’d been so exhausted after more than three days straight of no sleep, but now rest eluded him. Images came to his mind, unbidden. He pictured Stephen lying naked on a bed with dark red sheets, stark against his pale, unmarked skin. He thought of the faces he would make, the _noises_ , if he was loud or quiet, if his hands made it difficult and if so, how he handled it. In his mind, Stephen bit down on his lip until it bled, a streak of blood running over his carved cheek.

Slowly, Tony’s hand drifted beneath his blanket, lightly curling around the base of his growing erection. Maybe Stephen would start with just a hand wrapped around his cock until the pain and shakiness became too uncomfortable to ignore. Then he'd grab the nearest pillow and hold it between his legs, tightening his thighs around it as he rubbed his cock against the soft fabric. He thought Stephen probably had a stash of toys he liked to use, likely including vibrators and strangely shaped dildos. He'd pick one and hurriedly lube it, barely stopping to prep himself before he impaled himself on the toy.

Tony’s hand sped up as he imagined Stephen’s hitched breaths, eyes shut as he adjusted to the girth. He figured Stephen had a size kink; he certainly boasted enough about his conquests, both during fights with the Avengers and moonlit chats, to give Tony an idea of what he’d like. He’d roll over onto his stomach and rut against the bed, not bothering to be quiet as one hand pushed the dildo in and out of his tight hole—

Tony shuddered as he came, dirtying his fist as the image of Stephen vanished from his mind. Pleasure rolled through him in waves before he came down from the too-brief high. Another minute, and he was deadly still, cum drying on his hand and abdomen as dread filled him.

_Fuck._

* * *

He saw Stephen again the next day, the sorcerers popping in and out of the upstate forest where they were fighting. Steve was hanging upside down in a tree, Steve and Nat were somehow fighting each other, Wanda and Clint were unconscious, and Thor was wandering around with blank white eyes screaming in a childlike voice, “Loki! Give me back my sight!”

Stephen sat on a tree branch more than twenty feet up, swinging his legs as Tony flew up next to him. “Sam is still giving Renna a run for her money,” Stephen said charitably.

“What are you doing?”

“Right now, I’m taking a juice break.” He held up a box of apple juice to demonstrate. “I set Captain Jawline and red on each other, so I feel like I’ve done enough.”

“Too lazy to come up with a nickname for Nat?”

“Too much respect. Anyone who can fight in that catsuit is too good for cheap insults. I’ll save my expensive ones for her.”

Tony was blushing under his helmet, though thankfully Stephen couldn’t tell. It felt like too much of a coincidence that they saw each other so soon after last night, but then, the sorcerers had been showing up more and more lately. “You guys have been busy.”

Stephen shrugged. “You’ll get a break tomorrow. Big party, we’ll probably all be hungover.”

“Joy.”

Stephen finished his juice box and portalled it away. Tony leaned over enough to see it fall into a trashcan. Then the wizard summoned a kaleidoscope of glittering butterflies to swarm over him, and the fight was on again.

* * *

Tony went to sleep the next night, stubbornly refusing to think of Stephen as he buried his face in a pillow. He considered taking sleeping pills, but it took surprisingly little time for him to drift off.

Although he only occasionally dreamed of Stephen now, he still hadn’t had a nightmare in a long time. So he wasn’t frightened to find himself standing in a strange room full of people wearing cloaks and sorcerer robes. If anything, that was normal compared to most of his dreams (he was still haunted by the one with the Kool-Aid man). He wasn’t off-put by seeing Stephen next to him, dressed in white robes with geometric embroidery in dark blue and red. Even the fact that he wasn’t ogling Tony and telling dirty jokes, or even _seeing him_ didn’t strike him as odd. No. The thing that froze Tony to the spot was the pale, bald woman sitting in the middle of it all, sitting with her eyes closed, face peaceful, and practically drowning in flowing robes. She didn’t look at him, but something about her was . . . wrong. Powerful. Different. Like her mere presence was enough to stop time.

There was space open between herself and the other people surrounding her. It was there that a man, East Asian with deep frown lines and dark eyes, walked in circles as he spoke. “Today marks twenty-seven years since the last time the mighty Agamotto graced Kamar-Taj with his benevolent presence.”

 _Twenty-seven_ , Tony thought absently. _Three by three by three._

“He will renew the power of Kamar-Taj and the Ancient One as he possesses the body of his most powerful follower. May we all be blessed with the strength of Hoggoth, the wisdom of Oshtur, and the _power_ of All-Seeing Agamotto.”

The woman in the middle leaned forward, bowing as she pressed her head to the floor. Everyone stared, waiting . . .

. . . and waiting.

The sorcerers started shifting awkwardly, muttering to themselves. The woman sat back on her feet, the only one who didn’t seem confused. She looked with clear green eyes that settled on a single man.

Stephen’s eyes had grown wider, tears gathering and falling from them. Something seemed to snap, and he fell forward, crying out in pain when he landed on his hands. He curled in on himself as Mordo ran to his side, holding his shoulder. “Stephen? Stephen!”

“Let him go,” the woman said, standing suddenly and pushing Mordo away. “No one touch him. He can handle this.”

Stephen didn’t seem to agree, writhing on the floor with his head tucked close to his chest, hiding his face. “Why are you doing this?” He pleaded. Tony wanted to fall to his side, hold his hand and comfort him, but he was frozen in place, “Why . . . why me? I don’t understand—” He screamed, thrashing until he was lying on his back. His hands, scarred and pained, covered his face, but green light peeked through the fingers. He moved suddenly, as though something was forcing him, and his arms were pinned to the floor. On his forehead, his third eye shone green and bright and scared.

As quickly as he began, Stephen stopped moving. His face was still, emotionless. Tony realized in that moment that Stephen was not himself. The force that man had spoken of — _Agamotto_ — was there, and Stephen was gone. Tony stared in silent pain and horror as Stephen’s face turned to look at him. Agamotto smiled, mouth so wide Tony thought his face might split open. When he spoke, it was in an inhuman language that Tony shouldn’t have been able to understand. He did anyway.

“ _We have been waiting for you.”_


	7. Vertigo

Tony woke up drenched in sweat, looking around with wide, dark eyes. “Friday, what . . . what’s going on?”

“ _Nothing, boss_ ,” the voice came, sounding confused, if it were possible for A.I. to be such. “ _Your heart rate is elevated. I recommend—_ ”

Tony threw the blankets to the floor and stood up, barely stopping to pull on a robe as rushed downstairs to his workshop. “Fri, any progress on that sensor I’ve been working on.”

“ _No, sir_ ,” Friday said with worry. “ _You haven’t had a breakthrough on that in weeks._ ”

“Well, now we don’t have any time.” Tony pulled up his plans and settled in to work.

* * *

Tony knew that the sorcerers had to emit some sort of energy when they did their ‘magic’ thing. How could they not? About 90% of what they did was just manipulating some kind of energy or otherwise breaking the laws of physics. And that _should_ be traceable, even if no one had ever thought to try it before.

He’d been working on the tracker (still thinking of a clever acronym) for months, but his work on it had slowed once he and Stephen started their late-night sparring/pointless philosophizing sessions. Now he threw himself into it, rerouting all his calls, postponing meanings, and only leaving the workshop to get food or go to the bathroom for the as he designed, built, coded and re-coded.

By the fourth day, he had a buggy, confused sensor that could barely comprehend the readings he had from fights with Stephen on the roof . . . but it was just enough to pinpoint a spot nearby that was having huge spikes of similar energy. _Magic._

_Got you._

* * *

Greenwich.

All this time fighting Stephen, all this time wondering where they were coming from and how they could fight them, and they were just downtown in _Greenwich fucking Village._

Tony removed his red-tinted sunglasses as he looked the building up and down, taking in the nondescript brownstone design and the shockingly-noticeable symbol emblazoned on a window on the roof. _177A Bleecker Street._ He’d probably been through this street a dozen times on his way to the Big Gay Ice Cream Shop.

Tony kind of wanted to punch something.

He was surprised to find the door unlocked. His shoulders tensed as he just walked in, wondering what traps he was walking into, what defenses they had that no one considered locking the front door important.

Those thoughts flew from his mind when he saw a body on the floor.

He ran over immediately, going to his knees and reaching out to the man’s wrist and neck to check for a pulse. Nothing.

The man was definitely a sorcerer, dressed in the same style of robes they used, a similar green to Mordo’s — but no, it wasn’t him. Tony had never seen this man before. Mordo, like his friend, never wasted an opportunity to humiliate the Avengers.

Tony rose, pulling off his suit jacket and covering the dead sorcerer’s head with it in respect. Then he summoned a suit and waited for it to arrive and form around him before starting up the stairs that dominated the foyer.

He looked down the dark halls, wondering how stupid it would be to start shouting for Stephen. He didn’t, of course. He wasn’t _that_ far gone. But he did start down one hall, repulsor ready and hand raised as he walked. At first, the entire, creepy building seemed quiet. Dead, even.

Then he heard it.

Tony flied to follow the sounds of fighting, hearing what sounded like Stephen’s voice as he grew closer and found himself in a new wing of the building. Then, vertigo. The room turned around him, floor switching with the ceiling as the walls twisted and turned. He stopped, freezing in the center of the air as he took in what was going on.

First of all, there were about three sorcerers there, all of them staring at him now. Second, Stephen was one of them, and he was almost literally hanging onto a thread as his hands and arms gripped a sconce as he fought not to fall to the other end of the hall. Third, the other two sorcerers had weird purple burns around their eyes and did not seem very happy to have their fight interrupted. Tony understood that. He also kind of wished he wasn’t there.

Then the new sorcerers were attacking him, and he didn’t have much time to think.

“Tony!” Stephen shouted, wincing in pain as his hands trembled.

“Kind of busy!”

He didn’t really see Stephen rolling his eyes, but he could _feel_ it. “The doors!”

“What—” He stopped halfway through his thought as he noticed the three doors at the far end of the upside-down hallway. One looked like it opened up to a forest, another the ocean, and the one in the middle showed a desert. _No way._ Well, might as well try it.

Tony grabbed the sorcerer closest to him and threw her against a wall to clear the way before rocketing off to those doors, too fast for the evil(er?) wizards to get a hold of him. Before he’d even finished opening the middle door, Stephen let go of the light and fell down the hall, blue robes whipping around him as he knocked a man standing on the sideways floor (Tony _really_ hated the way sorcerers could pick and choose which laws of physics they obeyed), sending both of them barreling to the open door.

Tony grabbed Stephen around the waist before he could join the falling man in the desert. Stephen yelped in pain, close to trembling, but he hopped down and twisted a glowing dial next to the door. He had just enough time to switch it to a jungle before the remaining sorcerer attacked them again.

Tony stepped in front of Stephen as their attacked unleashed a glowing orange whip, so familiar to him now, and allowed it to wrap around his arm. Hands protected by gauntlets, he twisted them around and threw the red-robed woman through the still-open door. Stephen, now panting, reached over and tiredly switched the portal to a glacier.

Stephen didn’t wait to collapse on the floor, grunting when the room returned to what Tony assumed was its normal orientation. Tony thought he might pass out for a minute before those blue-green eyes opened, landing on him. “Do me a favor.”

Tony stared at him. “I just did, like, ten.”

“Not . . . there’s a bottle of pills in my pocket. For my hands. Get it out and give me two.” He pouted, eyes wide and watery. “Please.”

Tony wanted to snark at him, to demand to know what the hell he’d walked in on . . . but Strange was sweaty and paler(r than usual) and clearly in pain. He did as he asked, patting around the sorcerer’s tunic for a pocked until he found what he was looking for (the fact that Stephen didn’t even _try_ to flirt as Tony felt him up was cause for concern on its own).

Stephen muttered a thank you when Tony held the two pain pills to his mouth, swallowing them dry before leaning back against the wall. “That’ll take a little while to kick in.”

Tony lowered his helmet, finally setting down on the floor. “Why don’t you use that time to fill me in?”

Stephen sighed, giving him a pleading look. “I’m _tired_.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass _more_ if you don’t fess up.” He nudged Stephen’s leg to make his point. The sorcerer gasped like he’d been stabbed.

“Basically—” he gestured to the glass portals with his head, “—super duper evil sorcerers who want to surrender our dimension to an unimaginably powerful being called Dormammu, resulting in the absorption of Earth and end of the world as we know it. Do you have a Babybel?”

Tony blinked at the shockingly concise explanation. “First of all, why would I just _have_ cheese with me?”

“Worth a shot.”

“ _Second_ , aren’t you guys the evil sorcerers?”

“That’s offensive. I’ve only ever _accidentally_ tried to summon a god-like entity to devour the world. And it’s not my fault they put the warnings after the spells.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Now that I think about it,” Stephen said, and Tony couldn’t even tell if he was trying to change the subject or not, “what are _you_ doing here?”

Tony shifted awkwardly before saying. “Not important.”

“Oh, that means it’s _juicy_.” Stephen smirked, his energy slowly returning as he rested. “Care to share with the class?”

“Shut it, pervert. I just— I had a dream, okay? Your mystic bullshit is leaking into my head.”

Stephen frowned at the end of his sentence, catching the genuine distress hiding in Tony’s voice. “What kind of mystic bullshit?”

Tony rolled his eyes, not looking at him directly. “I don’t know. It was weird. There were all these sorcerers, but you were all wearing white. And you were _possessed_ , or something, and I was . . .”

Stephen smiled, surprisingly genuine. “You were worried about me?”

“ _No!_ ” Tony denied hotly. “Just that you were going to wipe New York off the map. And I live here, so.”

Stephen chuckled, feeling strong enough now to move his hands a bit. “Well, I _was_ possessed for a few days, you’re right. But it was fine. Mutually consensual possession. It’s gone now.”

“You didn’t seem . . . you looked like you were in pain.” Tony hated the vulnerability in his voice, the feeling of being laid bare. He didn’t want to care about Stephen. He certainly didn’t want him to _think_ he cared. But . . .

“Unexpected, that’s all. Everyone thought it would be . . .” Stephen trailed off shiftily, and Tony realized with a start that he was hiding something. Which shouldn’t have been surprising. They were still enemies, always would be. He’d only helped because— well, Stephen was a _good_ enemy at least, and surprisingly insightful when he wanted to be. And besides, those sorcerers that needed to talk to their dermatologist had _attacked_ him. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to do _now_ , with Stephen barely holding his head up at Tony’s feet, tired from the fight with blood on his face and violently shaking hands? It wouldn’t exactly be a fair fight.

That wasn’t at all why he didn’t do it, but Tony was happy thinking so.

Suddenly Stephen started to pull himself up, wincing some before starting slowly down the hall. “I have to go. The London Sanctum is already gone, there’s no way they won’t be back, _probably_ with more than two. I won’t be able to hold them off alone.”

“Alone?” Tony followed him. “Who am I, Clint?”

Stephen didn’t quite manage to nail looking apologetic this time. “No offense, but you can barely fight a sorcerer that’s toying with you, never mind a group of zealots hell-bent on destruction.”

Tony bristled. “I did alright when I was saving _your_ magical ass five minutes ago.”

“We dropped them through a door— you think my ass is magical?”

Tony was kind of glad when the building started to explode two seconds later.


	8. What A Lovely Bride

“FUCK!”

Tony couldn’t disagree with Stephen’s assessment. A giant hole had been blown into the roof of the Sanctum, leaving it exposed to the world outside. Both of them coughed as dust and debris fell around them, Stephen staring wide-eyed at the destruction. “WHO THE _FUCK_ —”

One of Stephen’s hands shot up suddenly, summoning an orange barrier around himself and Tony as a red, white, and blue shield shot around the room.

Tony, whose hands had been raised with repulsors ready, blinked in shock. “Oh, come on— Steve?!”

An awkward pause settled over all of them as several people popped into view — Clint, Nat, Wanda, Vision, and _yes_ , Steve. They stared at Tony. He stared back.

Tony spoke first (naturally). “What the hell are you guys doing here?”

“Us?” Wanda said in her thick accent which Tony was pretty sure was fake. “We found your sensor and came to fight. Why are you here?”

“Um . . .” Well, this looked shady. “It’s kind of complicated—”

Then the Sanctum blew up _again_.

Tony’s helmet automatically slotted over his head as he was thrown backwards, everyone yelling out in shock and pain as they were suddenly shocked backwards and covered in falling stone, the building consumed in a blast of golden light.

Tony blinked when everything was finally still enough for him to sit up and look around, pushing huge chunks of wall and ceiling away as he did. What had only moments ago been the New York Sanctum was now a pile of dust and rubble. Stephen was already standing the center of it all, whipping around this way and that with genuine horror in his eyes.

That was the thing that clued Tony into how serious this really was. Stephen was worried. Hell, Stephen was _scared_. Tony had never seen him like this. He’d seen the enemy sorcerer angered, confident, amused, shameless, genuine, philosophical, flirty, but never anything as pedestrian as _scared_. It was like learning a shark had predators. Yeah, it might have been fun to watch the sorcerers get taken down a peg on the sidelines, but he did _not_ want to face that particular fish.

“ _KAECILIUS!_ ” Stephen shouted. “YOU FUCKING _TRAITOR!_ ”

Tony dragged himself out of the rubble, joining him. “What the hell was that?”

“Yeah, Strange,” Steve Rogers said, appearing from the destruction, his own helmet protecting his head. “I think we all want—”

“I don’t have time for you,” Stephen snapped, twisting his hands around in a complicated gesture, red sparks flying from his fingers. When Steve tried to step forward, he stopped, looking down to see a thick red band hooked around his ankle, attaching him to the other Avengers, each of whom had a similar leash. None of them could move more than a foot on their own.

Stephen turned around, ignoring the indignant shouts of heroes as he pulled a gold, two-finger wing from his belts and put it on. Tony, the only Avenger _not_ bound to the others, stood at the sorcerer’s side as he held up a hand and started making a wide circular motion. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Going to Hong Kong,” Stephen said simply as a portal formed in front of them. He stepped through, and Tony watched him before looking back at his friends.

“Tony!” Steve shouted, trying ineffectually to pull the band on his foot off. “Help us!”

Tony looked at them for a moment, considered it, then followed Stephen through the portal.

* * *

Later, he would think it was lucky that Stephen hadn’t been lying when he said they were going to Hong Kong. And that going through a random magic portal he didn’t really know anything about didn’t melt his skull or something. But for the time being, he was too busy to think of any of that since they walked straight into a world of chaos.

Tony didn’t know how to describe what he was seeing. It was like the image was too much for his brain to process, too much to understand. People ran and screamed past them, eyes wide with terror. In the sky above them, ethereal purple light shot through with streaks of blue and red and green seemed to absorb the air. Planet-like spheres of color and energy absorbed buildings as this great mass of _other_ consumed the world around them.

“It’s too late,” Stephen said, voice low and scared. “Dormammu is coming.”

It was only then that they noticed the other sorcerers, flitting around the streets and buildings with an unnatural grace as they fought with the zealots, identifiable by the dark pits around their eyes. One of the marginally-less-evil sorcerers saw and joined them, running down the side of a building with bright yellow robes trailing behind. Tony did a double-take when he realized he recognized the bald, ageless woman in front of him from his dream. She was the leader, the powerful sorcerer who had been meant as Agamotto’s vessel.

If she recognized Tony, she didn’t show it. She waved a hand, and a flash of red flew forward, the Cloak wrapping itself around Stephen’s shoulders. Stephen stumbled back a step before closing his eyes and pulling the artifact close, breathing in the smell of the thick burgundy fabric.

“I thought you were still in New York,” the Ancient One said, singling in on Stephen.

“Yeah, it didn’t go well.” Stephen said, looking around. “Is Mordo alright?”

Tony felt a surprising, irritating pang of jealousy. He pushed it away, reminding himself that there was a _very real situation_ going on right now that they needed to focus on.

“He’s fighting Kaecilius.”

Stephen looked like he was about to start tearing his hair out. “What’s the _point?!_ We should be evacuating, trying to find something in the library at Kamar-Taj or—”

“There’s still time.” She reached for the eye necklace she wore, pulling it over her head and handing it to Stephen. “Take this. You’ll know what to do.” When Stephen only seemed unsure, she cupped his cheek, lifting his head to look at her. “Do not fear. This is what you were made for.”

Slowly, Stephen nodded, brushing past her and knocking his wrists together in a gesture Tony recognized as his boom-boom-whoosh spell. Glowing orange mandalas appeared at his fists as he lifted into the sky.

It was only then that the sorcerer in yellow turned her attention to Tony. Tony felt incredibly awkward just standing there, but she smiled at him. “Oh. Hello, Mr. Stark. Pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Uh . . . hi? Who the fuck are you?” He didn’t mention that he recognized her from a more-or-less real dream he had. That was a bit too much right now.

“I am the Ancient One.” Her arm shot up suddenly, raising a shield over them as a burst of glowing blue plasma-like energy shot at them, exploding into nothingness as it came into contact with her barrier. “I suggest we return to the fight now.”

“Yep.”

The Ancient One portalled away, back into the fray. Tony hopped into the air, boot thrusters powered. It was hard to pick out the evil sorcerers from the ones he was kind of on the side on. Hell, it was hard to just _stay in the air._ Mini-tornadoes blew through the street alongside blasts of energy, glowing whips, and flying bits of debris. All the while, the dark mass above them grew, expanding and sucking in more of the world it was eating.

By the time he managed to work his way to Stephen, the sorcerer was lying face-down in pain, wincing as he tried to pick himself up. Tony helped him, one hand on Stephen’s shoulder and the other on his arm, helping him into a sitting position. “What do we do, Strange?”

Stephen panted, looking around. Slowly, his face relaxed, peaceful. “We have a second chance.” He forced himself to stand. Past them, on top of a building, Tony saw a group of the zealots surrounding a man in orange start to run to them. “Cover me.”

Tony nodded and shot up into the sky, firing mini-missiles and repulsor blasts at the attacking sorcerers. They bat his attempts away as though they were mildly annoying mosquitoes, gaining ground with every second—

Then they stopped. _Everything_ stopped, the sorcerers still in the sky from when they’d been jumping, buildings in the process of falling over suddenly frozen. Then it all started up again, but now, things moved _backwards_. The zealots who’d been feet away from Stephen and Tony were running backwards without looking around. Buildings fixed themselves, towering over the street as if they’d never been anywhere else. Water from broken pipes flowed back into its proper place. Sorcerers who’d been struck down recovered, blood returning to their bodies, broken bones re-structuring themselves. Even the darkness in the sky began to retreat.

And in the center of it all, Stephen, the eye hanging around his neck glowing green as he slowly moved his hands and turned back time.

Stephen dropped his hands, looking around. “When the Hong Kong Sanctum is restored, they’ll attack it again.” Already they could see the other sorcerers break themselves out of the time spell, furious as they saw what was happening. “We need another plan.”

They started running for the Sanctum, but soon they saw the Ancient One standing before it, shields raised against Kaecilius. He saw them first. The only warning they had of what would come next was the mingled cries of sorcerers shouting, “ _NO!_ ”

Kaecilius jumped up suddenly, landing with a huge _thud_ that shook the earth beneath him. The ground rippled, flowing out from the sorcerer in a wave before it struck Stephen and Tony, throwing them back and breaking Stephen’s concentration enough that the time spell stopped, leaving the city and Sanctum only half-fixed.

“You cannot fight the inevitable,” Kaecilius said, stalking towards them as his zealots kept the others busy. “Isn’t it beautiful?” He asked solemnly, looking up at the Dark Dimension’s invasion. “A world beyond life and death. Beyond time.”

Stephen stopped suddenly, looking up at the kaleidoscope of colors and twisted shapes. “ _Beyond time_ ,” he breathed. He shot up, grabbing Tony by the shoulder and facing him. “Kiss me.”

“What? Why?” Tony half-shouted, wondering if this was going to be some sort of weird kiss-before-midnight spell.

“Because I’m probably going to die and you owe me one. Kiss me.”

Tony wanted to. He so, _so_ wanted to. Even when the blazing fires and pouring rain and the stench of death and darkness that surrounded them, he found there wasn’t anything he wanted to do in that moment so much as kiss Stephen Strange.

Instead, he said, “Come back alive and get it.”

Slowly, Stephen smiled. “I’m gonna hold you to that.” Then he shot up into the sky and flew to Dormammu.

* * *

Dormammu’s head alone was as large as a building, towering over Stephen and the strange purple sphere he’d landed on. His face was covered in fleshy red ridges that rippled, moving over his face and flashing silver and green. Both of his eyes were taller than Stephen, glowing a sickly purple.

Stephen smirked. “Dormammu. I’ve come to bargain.”

* * *

Tony stared at the ground, eyes wide as images flashed through them. Stephen, disintegrated by a purple beam of energy. Stabbed through the stomach with huge, stone spears. Smashed by a huge fist from above. Crushed by a planet. Ripped apart limb by limb. Choked to death by acidic-green bands. Suffocated until his face turned blue. Burnt to ash and dust and memory. Tony saw, and he remembered.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Kaecilius said solemnly, looking up at the Dark Dimension’s invasion. “A world beyond life and death. Beyond time.”

Stephen landed behind the zealot, that fucking _grin_ that Tony hated so much lighting up his face. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Kaecilius whipped around, feeling a shift in the air. He stared. “What did you do?”

Stephen shrugged, casually brushing past him to Tony. “I made a bargain. Afraid you might have gotten the short end of the stick.” He didn’t bother to look at Kaecilius as the zealots’ skin began to disintegrate, turning black and grey and purple and _what the fuck_. “But you know how these things go. Someone has to lose.”

Another second and they were gone, lifted into the sky as the Dark Dimension began to retreat. Stephen watched for a moment before collapsing, falling to the ground in exhaustion. Tony just barely caught him, shifting so he was holding the sorcerer bridal-style in his arms.

_Well, this is . . ._ Nope. Not gonna think about it.

Tony tensed when he saw the remaining sorcerers walk towards him. Mordo and the Ancient One were closest, Stephen’s constant friend and ally looking like he was about to beat Tony over the head for still being there. But his mentor stopped him, holding up a hand so the others knew not to come closer. She took a few more steps, looking over Stephen with an unreadable expression. When she held her hands out, Tony baked away, instinctively holding Stephen closer.

The Ancient One smiled at him, pale eyes oddly triumphant. “I'll protect him. I promise.”

For some reason, he believed her.


	9. Blessed

“There were extenuating circumstances,” Tony repeated, eyes trained on the wall opposite him rather than on the Avengers watching him. “It was more important to take down Lovecraft's nightmare than it was to worry about the sorcerers.”

Except he hadn't known that for sure, had he? All Tony’d had to go one was Stephen's word. Granted, he’d been telling the truth for once, but still . . .

“You left us tied up there to go chasing after Freddie Mercury!” Clint snapped, one hand rubbing the burn mark he’d gotten on his face trying to tear the (apparently _extremely_ hot) ropes away after Tony and Stephen left the Sanctum.

“I don’t think he’d be insulted by that nickname.”

Clint rolled his eyes, looking away from him. Natasha laid a hand on his arm, glancing at him before turning to Tony. “Clint’s right. What the hell were you thinking, Stark?”

“I was _thinking_ ,” Tony said, irritation leaking into his voice, “that Strange was making a lot of sense. I went there to find the sorcerers, and found out something bigger. Isn’t that out job? To protect people from the Godzilla-level things that want to kill them?”

“Tony, you don’t even have any proof that _happened_ ,” Steve pointed out, blue eyes staring at Tony with that ‘I’m not mad I’m just disappointed’ look.

“Yeah, because Strange _literally_ turned back time. You know he can do that, how many times has he left you trapped in time-loops?”

“There’s a compilation video on YouTube,” Rhodey offered, hiding a smile. “You made a _lot_ of weird faces in it.”

“We still don’t know where they got that footage,” Steve muttered. Tony pointedly said nothing.

“If Strange did that,” Natasha said slowly, “how do you even know he did it? You would just forget.”

Everyone returned to staring suspiciously at him, except Rhodey, who probably had better things to do. Tony rolled his eyes, feeling more frustrated with every inane comment. “I don’t know how magic works, Nat! If I did we wouldn’t have a sorcerer infestation in the first place!”

“Right,” Clint drawled. “Because you would actually _get rid_ of Strange instead of flirting with him? Interesting strategy, maybe you should _try it_.”

Tony stared at him a long time before closing his eyes and drawing a breath. He hadn’t lied. He _didn’t_ know how he remembered. Even the other sorcerers didn’t remember the battle or how Stephen had defeated Dormammu, he could see it in their eyes and the confused looks on their faces. But he did. He remembered Stephen dying, saw it in his head over and over when he slept or was too quiet for too long. The weight of Stephen in his arms never seemed to fully go away.

“We don’t need this right now,” Steve said quietly, seeming tired as he snapped Tony out of his thoughts. “First the Accords, now this.”

“What?” Tony asked. “The Sokovia Accords?”

“You heard about it?” Wanda asked accusingly.

“There have been talks in the Senate and UN for months, ever since . . .” The thought of a city falling from the sky, his own mistakes haunting him, Ultron and visions of death filled his mind, suffocating him as he fought to speak. “. . . Sokovia. Do you guys not check the news?”

The others looked around awkwardly, muttering to themselves. “It’s been a long year,” Steve offered, not quite looking at him.

Tony sighed. “Yeah, well, we’re gonna have to deal with that sooner or later too.” Tony still wasn’t sure how he felt about the Accords. On one hand, he knew the others would be concerned about their ability to help people if there were any new restraints. But after Sokovia . . . maybe a bit of restraint was just what they needed.

Although, speaking of new ideas . . . there was no time like the present. “Yeah, well, if you’re upset about _that_ —”

* * *

“I didn’t realize you were awake,” the Ancient One said, not looking up as Stephen walked in. She inclined her head to the apprentice sorcerers who’d been attending her, waiting for them to leave. The doors shuttered closed behind them, but she had to put an enchantment on the walls to keep people outside from listening in.

She fanned herself as Stephen spoke. “What happened with Kaecilius . . .” His voice trembled. She knew it must have hurt him to see what happened to someone he’d considered a friend and companion. Regardless, it was necessary. Kaecilius had reached to far, tried to hold immortality in his fingers, and paid the price.

“It was hard for you,” she acknowledged, finally turning to face him. She could tell immediately that he was tired. His eyes were dark and bloodshot. His weak hands clutched the _Sacred Book of the Vishanti_ as hard as they could. “You knew Kaecilius. It hurt to see him so corrupted.”

Stephen laughed harshly. “Corruption? Is that what you call it?” Suddenly he was only inches from her face, starry eyes wet with tears. “Did Kaecilius know the truth? Do you take life from the Dark Dimension?” His voice was achingly quiet and full of pain.

The Ancient One smiled. “My powers come from the Vishanti, Stephen. My immortality is a gift from Agamotto, although I imagine that will run out faster than I anticipated.” She looked out a window, pale eyes landing on the courtyard, on the novices training with Mordo and Aemma.

“What do you mean?” Stephen demanded, voice trembling. _Oh, dearest._ Things would be harder for him before they were easier.

The Ancient One reached out slowly, taking the book from his hands. “You’ve nearly finished this. Has the last chapter given you trouble?” She flipped it open, landing on the final section of the ancient book. The pages were soft and reminiscent of gossamer or silk, delicious to touch. “It took me years to decipher the final prophecy.”

“Is that what that is?” Stephen asked in confusion. The last two pages were a confusing mess of blue and green and gold that gave him a migraine every time he looked at them. He’d been trying to figure it out for a month now, but had nothing.

“The only one we have from the Vishanti,” she said quietly, wondering her fingers over the page. The sharp geometric shapes and lines and colors began to rearrange themselves, beginning to form lines and images that were vaguely recognizable. “Try it now.”

* * *

“I can’t believe this!”

“Are you _insane!_ ”

“Tony, you _can’t_ be serious!”

Tony sat in his high-backed leather chair, leaning his head forward on his hands as the others ranted and shouted at him. Fine. He knew it was going to be an unpopular idea. Didn’t make it any less necessary.

“Tones,” Rhodey said quietly, laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “I get where you’re coming from, but there’s no way that can work.”

“We’re supposed to _fight_ the sorcerers,” Steve said, standing up, blue eyes hard, but also confused. “Not join or surrender to them.”

“Okay,” Tony said with a shrug. “Anyone have an actual plan to fight them?”

They were silent.

“That’s what I thought.” Tony stood up, mirroring Steve’s position with his hands on the table. “We don’t have a way to beat the sorcerers. Nothing we’ve thrown at them has even scratched the surface. We don’t even know _how_ they do whatever the fuck it is they do. But _I know_ what I saw. There are bigger fish than the wizards, things that scare even them. They’re dangerous. You don’t have to remind me. But at least they don’t want to literally destroy the planet and everyone on it. And if they’re too big to fight, then it’s better to have a hand on the wheel. I think our best option is to ally with the sorcerers.”

* * *

Some of the lines in the _Sacred Book of the Vishanti_ became words, clear to him now. His eyes ran over each line, soaking the information in.

“ _And there will be a great Master of the Mystic Arts_ ,” the Ancient One intoned solemnly. “ _Blessed by the Vishanti and favored by Agamotto the All-Seeing, and they will be the Supreme Sorcerer and lead the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj to power over the world. At their side will stand the King of Kings, a mortal blessed with the sight of the Third Eye. They will know no magic, but they will have a power of their own and will lead the people of the world under the banner of humanity._ ”

The last page had a single picture on it, something so obvious that Stephen was stunned he hadn’t realized it earlier. A glowing blue triangle, set upside-down in a circle and cut with black lines.

The arc reactor.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a slow writing week for me, but I'm not gonna make a promise about faster updates, I'll just post this and say bye
> 
> Bye


	10. I'm Not Very Good At Waiting ...

Later, Tony wouldn’t quite understand how it all happened. It all just kind of . . . spiraled.

* * *

Tony dragged himself up to the penthouse late at night, finally having finished off the coding on his new project for a certain spider-person. He wasn’t even halfway up the stairs when he heard piano music playing throughout the living room, quiet and soft, almost ethereal. Tony paused for a split-second before running upstairs, the glass door sliding open for him.

Stephen sat in front of Tony’s piano, fingers dancing over the keys. He didn’t look around when the door opened, but Tony knew he was smiling. “Hello, darling. How was work?”

Tony sighed, leaning against a wall. “What now, Strange?” Obviously things were different between them since Hong Kong and the attack on the Sanctums. That was why he didn’t blast Stephen out of a window. But he still didn’t appreciate his stalking.

“I haven’t played in forever.” Tony thought at first that Stephen was making another subtle sex joke about him, but then he realized the sorcerer was talking about the piano. “I’ve missed it.” He lowered his head, playing for another minute or so without speaking until he finished the piece, a song Tony didn’t recognize. The notes faded into existence as it came to an end. Silence struck the room as Stephen turned around on the bench and looked up at him. “How did your meeting go?”

“How do you know I was in a meeting?”

“Do we really have to play coy now, Tony? Come on.”

There didn’t seem to be any point in denying it. Tony settled down on his plush couch, pulling his legs up as he sighed. Eyes covered with his arm, he asked, “Have you heard about the Accords?”

Secure in the knowledge that Tony couldn’t see him, Stephen smiled.

* * *

He was just starting to write up plans and talk to Pepper about his new ideas for the sorcerers when Lagos happened.

Tony’s eyes turned dark as he stared at the newscast, watching and re-watching it until he could recite the entire thing by memory. He barely even noticed when shaking fingers began stroking his hair and the back of his neck, a slow, comforting motion. He leaned into the gesture, shutting his eyes. The TV light shut off. “Get some rest,” Stephen whispered. Another moment and he felt himself sinking into his bed, the covers pulled over him and a hand pressed against his forehead. “The world will still be there in the morning.”

 _Unfortunately_ , Tony thought as he drifted into magic-induced sleep.

* * *

It didn’t take long for the Sokovia Accords to be rushed through the UN after that. He was tired down to his bones after arguing with Steve and the others for days. He still didn’t know how the hell they’d managed to wait so long before getting mad at him for this. Honestly, he’d been expecting that particular bow up weeks ago. But fate had a way of time things for maximum kick-in-the-balls effect, so maybe he should have seen this coming.

Maybe it would have been different in not for Barnes. Or Zemo. Or his and Steve’s complete inability to handle emotional situations. Honestly, a lot was messed up. But what he did . . . he wouldn’t lie and say Steve was his best friend in the world or that they never gave each other a hard time. Hell, it had practically been the norm after Stephen and the sorcerers got involved and everyone was wired all the time. But he would never have even _thought_ to hide something like this from Steve— God, his _parents_. He’d thought they were _friends_. At the very least, they’d fought together, had each other’s back when it mattered most. Loki and the Chitauri, Hydra, Ultron, the sorcerers . . . they were brothers-in-arms. Or at least Tony thought so.

Now, he wasn’t thinking much at all.

The air was blistering cold when his helmet broke and Steve brought the shield — that fucking _shield_ , his _father_ made that, _that fucking lying hypocrite_ — down on his chest, disabling the arc reactor powering his armor. He lay there, staring with eyes turned dry by the cold. The air tore at his skin, biting into his wounds and filling his blood. He didn’t think he could move. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

His vision blurred as the cold seeped into him, gently coaxing him to rest. As he fell into the darkness, he felt a hand press against his blood-soaked chest and half-frozen face. He smiled into eyes the color of the ocean as unconsciousness overtook him.

* * *

Tony didn’t know how long he slept. When he woke up, his limbs were sore and numb from lack of use. He couldn’t even stretch his hand without biting down on a scream. There were people hovering over him, he could tell, lowering their hands over his chest and murmuring in words he didn’t understand. When he tried to speak, to thrash and demand to know what was happening, the scream forced its way out of his mouth and the darkness took him again.

* * *

He dreamed in images, in lights both flashing and blurred, bright colors and cool tones. Sometimes they formed distinct shapes, almost enough for him to make sense of them, and sometimes they were just . . . there. Streaks of blue and green and gold and red morphed and swirled around his mind. Sometimes noise joined them, tingling in the back of his head, faint enough that he didn’t notice at first before it echoed through his entire skull. Music, usually, the gentle notes of a piano. But sometimes it was that voice he’d heard weeks ago. The voice of that _thing_ — god? monster? something else? — that had possessed Stephen seemed to speak to him. Only now its voice was just a high-pitched ringing that his mind refused to translate. And sometimes, more rarely than anything else, but also more familiar, was the deep, comforting voice of Stephen Strange.

* * *

He woke up several more times, but never for more than a few minutes, and usually not even half that much. Each time he was confused and exhausted, and each time he saw more of those people, unfamiliar and anxiety-invoking.

The first time the people were gone was the first time he managed to stay awake. It was hard. His head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton and his limbs were heavier than blocks of lead. But there was nothing else to do. He pulled himself into wakefulness, inch by painful inch.

When he was finally able to think, he looked around, neck aching. Something about the room seemed strangely familiar, but he was sure he’d never been there before. The walls were made of dark wood, with geometric shapes carved into the top to act as windows and let in air. Two small doors led who-knows-where. There was a wardrobe that he could see, and a nightstand with a clay bowl, a matching pitcher, and a still-burning stick of incense on top. The fragrant notes filled his nose. He recognized the smell as well, but this time he actually knew where the memory came from. It was the scent that clung to Stephen’s robes and followed him into battle as well as into Tony’s house. Spice and sandalwood and jasmine.

 _That_ thought made him freeze. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that Stephen would kidnap him, especially if he thought he was ‘helping’. But he still had no idea _where_ exactly he was, if the other sorcerers knew he was there and if they would care half as much about his safety as Stephen did. Hell, he didn’t even know if Stephen was the one who’d kidnapped him at all. For all he knew the wizards had finally gotten tired of Stephen mooning over him and were putting an end to the problem once and for all and— wait, _where the fuck was his suit?_

Yeah, this did not seem like a good situation.

He waited a little longer to gather his strength before sitting up and slowly moving his legs over the side of the bed. It stung to place his feet on the stone floor, like shards of ice stabbing his calves, but he refused to give up. Tony pushed himself up and off of the bed, only then taking in his clothes. They were robes, the same style that Stephen and his allies wore, but white and grey instead of red or blue or green. He wondered idly if they’d just magicked the clothes onto his body or if Stephen had changed him. Probably the latter. _Sounds like him._

His hands slowly passed over his body, looking for anything he’d had on him in Siberia. Nope. No watch, phone, tech, _anything_. The bright side was that he couldn’t feel the wounds he’d taken in Leipzig or Serbia. Even his arm seemed in good shape, once the pins-and-needles feeling dissipated. And he didn’t _think_ the implants in his arms had been taken. He could probably still call a suit to him, but he had no idea where he was, how long it would take, or if it would even work if he was surrounded by that weird energy the sorcerers emitted.

Still, there didn’t seem to be any choice. He was in what was still, for all intents and purposes, enemy territory against his will. He held his arms out and flicked his hands in the motions he’d programmed the suits to respond to. There. Now he just had to wait.

. . .

He’d never been good at waiting.

He tried both doors. The first just led to a small bathroom with a copper tub, a shower faucet in the wall, toilet, and a small mirror and sink. For how tiny it was, there were a _lot_ of bath and grooming products stuffed in. A genuinely worrying amount.

Yeah, this was probably Stephen’s room.

Which meant he’d slept in Stephen’s bed— nope, time and place.

The other door led out into a hallway. Tony looked each way before determining that no one was walking that way at the moment. He almost wondered if it might be better to just sit and wait for Stephen . . . but since when did Tony Stark wait for a man?

For lack of any actual knowledge of where he was going, he picked the left side and started walking, the stone floor cool against his tired soles. He made a couple of turns before he finally emerged into something new, what seemed like an entryway. Now there were multiple doors, and he could hear people moving beyond them and down the connecting corridors. Looking around, he waited until he heard someone start to come down to where he was before taking off again, picking a door at random and running through.

His eyes blinked rapidly as he emerged into a sunlit courtyard, everyone turning to stare at him as he slowed. Some of the faces he recognized — sorcerers the Avengers had fought once or twice, some of them in varying jewel-tone shades, others in plain red — but others were unfamiliar to him, especially those wearing white robes like his own. A few of them only looked at him a moment before returning to whatever they were doing, casting spells in groups or fighting. Only two people didn’t stop at all. Two _extremely_ familiar faces.

Stephen Strange clawed at the rope around his neck, head thrown back as Karl Mordo choked him from behind. Tony had a moment to take in the image before they saw him. Stephen’s neck and arms strained, muscles called into sharp reflection as they strained in pulled. For once, Stephen wasn’t wearing any sleeves, clothed in a dressed-down version of his normal sapphire-blue robes. His mouth was open in a silent gasp, eyes staring up at the sky.

Mordo saw him first, dark eyes dilating before the pupils turned small. His mouth pressed into a hard line as he suddenly let go of the rope, Stephen immediately pulling away from him and gasping in breaths. He rubbed the pink marks around his neck, laughing. “Not sure why you stopped. I could’ve gone another hour—”

He froze when his eyes, those awful, beautiful blue-green-grey eyes that haunted Tony’s sleep, finally landed on Tony. They stared at each other across the courtyard, the rest of the world forgotten as it all narrowed down to just them, the way it was meant to be.

Slowly, cautiously, Stephen smiled. “Oh. You’re awake.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact, Mordo choking Stephen like that is actually from a deleted scene/behind the scenes footage from Doctor Strange during their training session. look that up and enjoy.


	11. Lay Your Head Down

“I found you in Siberia.”

They were sitting outside in the courtyard Tony had inadvertently run in on, legs crossed as Stephen spoke. A shimmery, see-through bubble surrounded them, preventing anyone else from listening in on their conversation. Tony looked out and around at the people walking by, even as his mind focused entirely on the sorcerer in blue.

“I saw the battle with Rogers and the others on the news. When no one knew where you were, I searched for your soul on the astral plane. What I found . . . scared me. You were hurt.”

Tony felt something in his chest twist painfully, even though the sorcerers’ magic had healed his injuries, leaving only a few pale scars. “Steve left?”

Stephen nodded. For once, he seemed . . . reflective. Quiet. Respectful. He let Tony take things in slowly, only explaining what he needed to and frequently stopping when he sensed agitation rise in the Avenger. Tony wondered if Stephen had any idea how grateful he was for that.

“He was gone by the time I got there. You had a bad concussion, multiple contusions, bleeding from the chest and face. I was worried about internal injuries — you were hit pretty bad, and the suit was crushed in some places, especially the helmet and chest plate — but we handled it. You might feel a sort of phantom pain every now and then, but nothing major. Nerve damaged seemed like a possibility, left in the cold like that, but I checked and you’re fine.”

The corner of Tony’s mouth twitched up in a smile. “And you’re the best at what you do, right? You would know?”

“Exactly.” Stephen returned Tony’s tiny, sad smile with one of his own, but he still didn’t seem anywhere near as relaxed as Tony was used to seeing him. It was kind of worrying, to think that even Stephen Strange could be serious when the situation called for it. He almost hoped the sorcerer would make an inappropriate joke or ogle him a bit, just so it would feel like normal.

He looked away, startled slightly when a lead fell on his shoulder, brushing his cheek on the way. “How long have I been here?”

Stephen hesitated to answer. “Four days.”

He wasn’t sure if that was more or less time than he’d expected. “Does anyone know I’m here? Pepper, Rhodey, the . . .” He didn’t know where Steve’s team had gone, if there even _were_ any Avengers for him to return to. He swallowed. “My team.”

“No,” Stephen said, looking down at his hands before raising his eyes. They were disquietingly green, the warm lighting doing away with the blue and traces of grey. “Do you want anyone to know?”

“. . . No.”

* * *

Tony was tired. Not in the way he got after spending two and a half straight days in his workshop, cranking out an Iron Man suit with no thought for things like food or sleep. No, this was different. It wasn’t the sort of thing that could be fixed with a nap. He felt like he was tired in his heart and head and bones. Like he wanted to just lay down and let the world go on without him.

Stephen must have seen it in his eyes. He refused to let Tony bury himself under a mound of blankets and pillows like he wanted to. Instead, he took the hero on a tour of Kamar-Taj, seeming entirely unconcerned with the fact that they were still nominally enemies. “You’ve already seen the courtyard, of course. That’s where we do most of our combat training. Mordo and I were having a bit of fun, but we can pick up on it later.”

Tony, who’d been staring steadily ahead of him and half-listening, now turned his full attention to the man walking beside him. “Mordo?” After Stephen, the green-robed sorcerer was one of the biggest pains in the Avengers’ collective ass. Tony knew the two were friends — who else could put up with Stephen’s double-entendres and childish pettiness with little more than an eye-roll and chuckle? — but he’d never had the opportunity to ask Stephen about him. “You two close?”

“Yes. Mordo saved my life when I first came here and didn’t know anything. I owe him everything.”

“Oh—”

“And we have sex a lot.”

The casual statement didn’t make Tony blush — he wasn’t a sixteen-year-old having sex for the first time — but it did make something in his throat constrict. “Oh.”

Either Stephen doesn’t notice the change in his demeanor, or he mercifully chose not to bring it up. “Yep. He’s one of my favorites.”

And wasn’t like anything Stephen had said was _surprising_. Far from it, Tony had always figured, perhaps vaguely, that Stephen sought satisfaction elsewhere when Tony didn’t give in to his dramatic swooning and violent declarations of attraction. Maybe it was just the fact that Stephen had always acted as though he were special, from appreciating his skills in battle or sneaking up to the roof of Stark Tower for a two am conversation, or maybe it was the aftermath of the fight with Steve and the others, but something about how casual Stephen was being about this made Tony feel very . . . exposed. Bared. Raw. He wanted reassurance of his place in Stephen’s head, not nonchalant acknowledgment of all the casual and probably extremely kinky sex he had.

Tony was still trying to wrestle his feelings into submission when they stopped in front of a door, Stephen growing quiet. “These are the Ancient One’s rooms. She’s . . . well, she’ll want to see you before you leave.”

“Oh,” and yes, that is a much better thing to focus on right now. “When?”

“No.” Stephen quickly brushed past the door, waving one hand to send a breeze to push Tony forward when he didn’t immediately follow. “She’ll send for you when it’s time. Until that happens, you shouldn’t seek her out.”

“Okay . . .” Yeah, it might be a good idea to remember that he was in the midst of what was basically a magic cult. Was it too late to leave?

Tony blinked when the world suddenly started to shift, panes of wood moving around and blending into themselves until they were suddenly standing somewhere else. Stephen stumbled in place a bit, but seemed to catch himself. “Still having a bit of trouble with teleportation,” he said by way of explanation as he opened a door. “But this is the library. Figured this was faster than going back through the courtyard again.”

“Lazy ass,” Tony said, but secretly he was grateful. The trip had already taken a lot out of him, and he doubted he’d even have time to angst before falling asleep as soon as he lay down.

Stephen’s blue-green eyes twinkled. “I assure you, my ass works _tirelessly_ every day.”

“Ah, but what about nights?”

“Twenty-four/seven.”

“No snack breaks?”

“Only if it doesn’t interrupt the job.”

“I admire your work ethic.”

“I hate both of you,” someone said, a sorcerer standing behind one of the library shelves and looking at them with mild irritation. Tony started slightly when he realized he recognized the man from his vision-dream of Stephen. He was the man who’d lead the ceremony when they all believed the Ancient One would be the vessel for Agamotto. Tony couldn’t immediately remember if he’d ever personally fought the Avengers, but he figured he would if it had happened. Just the look he was giving Stephen was enough to make Tony want to leave the way he’d come in with his tail between his legs.

Stephen, on the other hand, was completely undeterred. He turned a face-splitting grin on the other man, running over and throwing his arms over the sorcerer’s shoulders like they were the best of friends. “Hey, babe.”

Tony felt the dark thrum of jealousy return, but the familiar sorcerer smacked Stephen’s arms away, knocking him a few feet back. “I told you not to call me that, Strange. Touch me again, and you’ll miss the days when it was only your hands that shook.”

“Promise?” Stephen laughed at the man’s unamused look, turning to wave Tony over. “Anthony, dearest, this is my friend Wong.”

“We’re not friends.”

“Besties.” His hand fell on Tony’s lower back as the Avenger joined them, the gesture slight and oddly comforting. “Tony, Wong is our librarian.”

“Oh. So you probably see less action.”

“The last librarian had his head relieved of his body in this room. If I learn that you’ve taken anything from here, you will meet a far worse fate.”

Tony blinked. Then he blinked again, started to open his mouth, and closed it. “Okay, then.”

Wong stared at them a moment longer before returning to the books, dismissing them without a word.

Stephen smiled as they left. “I think that went _really_ well.”

* * *

After that . . . conversation, they went back to Stephen’s room. Tony had slowed down by then, close to limping as the door drew near. Stephen supported him with one shoulder, opening the door with a hand that seemed to shake harder than usual. “You should get some rest.” He helped him down onto the low bed, pulling a blanket over Tony as his eyes drifted shut. “You’ve had a hard week.”

Tony shook his head even as sleep sunk its claws into his head. “Don’t want to sleep. Don’t like being alone in my head.”

Stephen sat beside the bed, leaning over Tony’s face. The harsh lines of his face softened slightly as he trailed his fingers down Tony’s face, where bruises had painted the tanned skin only days ago. “You’re not alone, Tony. I’ll stay as long as you want me.”

“And I can stay here? As long as I need?”

Stephen stared down at him, feeling his throat tighten. “Always, if you want.”

Tony nodded as his shut his eyes for the last time that day. “That would be nice.”

Stephen couldn’t help but agree, petting Tony’s face and hair long after he fell asleep, pretending the whole while that his comfort was anything more than that.  
  



	12. Trust

“How are you feeling?”

Tony murmured something incomprehensible, rolling over in the unfamiliar bed until he was facing Stephen. The sorcerer stood beside him, smiling. Tony returned the gesture before he processed the question.

“M’ fine,” he said, still sleepy. “My chest is better. Kind of bored. It’s weird, just laying around, bit I don’t really want to do anything.”

“You can take as much time as you need. No one here expects anything of you.” He walked around the room for a bit, pulling out a small breakfast tray, which he levitated above Tony’s lap. It took another minute for him to put together a proper tea set, but Tony didn’t mind waiting. “I hope you like chai,” Stephen said, pouring a cup for him. “It’s a staple around here. I did get some donut holes from New York, though.”

“Ooh.” Tony dug in hungrily, unsure if he’d even eaten the day before. Time seemed to move strangely there. He felt like he could go without food for a year and not notice until someone put a burger in front of him and said ‘eat’.

Stephen watched as he ate, not touching anything himself. As consciousness bled into Tony’s head, making him awake and alert, he noticed the way Stephen curled and uncurled his fingers nervously, the anxious look in his pale eyes. His clothes were more put together than the day before, making him seem slightly formal than usual.

Tony slowed down as he ate his fill, sitting back in bed and looking at the sorcerer. “What’s up?”

Immediately, Stephen stiffened, flexing his fingers, as though the small movements could delay whatever it was he was thinking about. “The Ancient One wants to see you today. As soon as you’re ready.”

Tony felt his stomach drop and his hands grow cold, but he nodded. “That’s not bad, right? I mean, you said she would. And I’ve met her before, in Hong Kong.”

Stephen nodded a little too fast. “Right. Of course, it’ll be fine. She doesn’t want to kill you, I know that much. So . . .”

“You’re not the best at comfort.”

Stephen smiled wryly. “I was always told I have terrible bedside manner.”

“Isn’t that kind of bad for a doctor?”

“Not for a surgeon, necessarily. Being an intern sucked, though.”

“Ouch.”

* * *

He could almost sense Stephen standing behind him as the Ancient One circled him, the other sorcerer tense as he stood by the door. The female sorcerer smiled serenely. “It is good to see you well again, Mister Stark. When Stephen found you, we were not certain you would return to us.”

“Yeah, well, I’m stubborn.”

“Indeed.” The Ancient One came to a stop in front of him, seeming satisfied. She looked over Tony’s shoulder to Stephen. “You may leave us now, Master Strange.”

Stephen stiffened. “I didn’t—”

“It is not a request, Stephen.” Her voice was gentle. The implication was anything but.

It was another moment before Stephen nodded, casting a worried look at the back of Tony’s head before slipping out of the Ancient One’s chambers and shutting the door behind himself.

They were alone.

The Ancient One moved first, walking over to a short table and sitting down, a clay tea set appearing out of nowhere. “Would you like a cup of chai?”

“Uh . . .” _Guess I’m just going with it._ “Already had some, thanks.”

She nodded, sitting down as she spoke. “You’ve made quite an impression here. Especially on dear Stephen.”

“Yeah, he’s . . .” Obsessive? Creepy? Definitely a stalker? Intoxicating despite those things? “He’s nice.”

She smiled as though he’d said something funny. “That’s one way to describe him.” She gestured to the cushion opposite her own, waiting for him to sit before she spoke again. “Do you know who the Vishanti are, Stark?”

 _Well, that’s a fun non-sequitur._ Despite how weird all of _this_ was, he tried to think about what she said, searching for the word in his memory. “Sounds vaguely familiar. Not really sure how.”

She nodded as though this were the expected answer. “The Vishanti are a trio of powerful, god-like beings who grant the sorcerers here our power. Sometimes, they select certain individuals for a great purpose, like myself or Stephen.”

. . . _Sure. Why not?_ “Okay. Why are you telling me about this?”

The Ancient One looked at him for what felt like a long time, pale eyes unflinching, before reaching to her belt and pulling off a bronze ring made to go over two fingers. She put it on her left hand, raising both arms to form a portal in the air above them. When it was ready, she reached through, bringing back an ancient-seeming leather-bound book.

. . .

A _familiar_ ancient-seeming leather-bound book. “Is that—”

“The book Stephen and Mordo were retrieving when you first met? Yes. _This_ is the _Sacred Book of the Vishanti_. It was written by Agamotto himself when the first sorcerers were chosen, thousands of years ago now.”

“Agamotto?” He thought back to the dream he’d had, weeks ago now, before the battle in Hong Kong. “I know that one. He spoke to me once, through Stephen.” He almost shivered just thinking of it, the way Stephen had thrashed around in pain, his body no longer his own. Glowing eyes had stared into his soul when the creepy-ass _thing_ had smiled at him. _We have been waiting for you._

The Ancient One actually seemed surprised for a moment before nodding. “That makes sense. I imagine he was as eager to meet you as I was.”

“Yeah . . . why do you want to talk to me, again?”

The Ancient One looked at him patiently, as though he were a child that needed her to speak slowly. “We have reason to believe that you may be such a chosen person.” She opened a book to the final pages, showing him a blue-and-black image, kind of like a watercolor painting, but unrecognizable. “Do you know what this is?”

“. . . A lost Pollock?”

She chuckled. It sounded fake. “It is a prophecy which even the most learned of sorcerers cannot read without the blessing of Agamotto. Even if I attempt to manipulate the image for others, make it easier for them to see, they will not see it if they are not meant to.” She passed the book into his hands, coming to stand behind him and look over his shoulder. Her fingers gently traced the lines and splotches on the page. “Look again.”

Despite the fact that he didn’t really see the point (there was no way he was _actually_ connected to creepy sorcerers’ _gods_ , right?), Tony did as she asked, looking closer than he had before in an effort to find meaning in the random colors and shapes. Slowly, it started to shift, coming together right in front of him. An image he knew intimately, something he would remember even in death.

_The arc reactor._

“That’s not . . . what is this, some kind of trick?” His heart was beating faster under the metal in his chest. This wasn’t true, _couldn’t_ be true. How could it be? How could he be connected to people he considered evil, to their gods he didn’t believe in and their powers he didn’t understand? Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he trusted Stephen! “I don’t—”

Suddenly, the room began to stretch and shift. He felt as though he were being squeezed through the eye of a needle. The feeling ended with a _pop_ , as swift as it began, and he fell to the floor in Stephen’s bedroom, eyes wide as he gasped for breath. “ _FUCK! Oh my— shit!”_

A hand reached to the side of his face, scarred and shaking and terrifyingly gentle. “Tony?”

Tony allowed himself to take comfort in the contact for a few scant seconds before wrenching himself away, smacking Stephen’s hand. The sorcerer winced, but didn’t seem angry, just looking at Tony with care and confusion. “What happened?”

Tony shook his head, dragging himself up to pace the room. “You fucking _sorcerers_ , messing with my head and showing me things— I don’t even know what’s _real!_ ” He whipped around to stare at Stephen, eyes pinning him in place. “What the hell is actually going on, Strange? Why am I here, why- what do you want with me?!”

Stephen reached forward, grabbing Tony’s arms and holding him in place before loosening his grip. One of his hands traveled up, playing with Tony’s dark curls. He leaned forward, burying his face in the hero’s neck. “You don’t trust me?”

Tony felt his cheeks heat up from the closeness, from Stephen’s body pressed against his own. “I don’t know what I think.”

“Hmm.” Stephen nosed at Tony’s jugular, tracing a trail up his neck and ear to his hair. “Let me show you something.” He took Tony’s hand, gently drawing him to the door. He stopped when Tony stood steadfast in place, refusing to move. The sorcerer looked back at him, tilting his head. “Anthony?”

Tony stared at him, at his unguarded eyes and shaking hands. _If I don’t trust him, who can I trust anymore?_

Slowly, Tony stepped forward.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a while longer to post this chapter because I took a mini-break from writing to refresh. I'm feeling better, so enjoy this chapter!


	13. A Billion and Two Beating Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I get artsy. I'm pretty sure that's a warning. 
> 
> Oh, also Stephen and Tony finally kiss

“Where are we going?”

Kamar-Taj had grown dark as night fell. The hallways were only periodically lit by oil lamps which, combining with the lack of people roaming around, gave the place an even more eerie feel than normal. Tony walked closely behind Stephen, flinching at every shadow and half-heard noise.

“Somewhere secret.”

“That doesn’t exactly clarify things,” Tony pointed out irritably, pulling his robes closer to him when he shivered. “ _Everything_ here is a secret to me.”

“Not secret,” Stephen corrected. “Simply unknown. And this is something that even most of the other sorcerers don’t know.” He shot Tony a teasing look. “ _That’s_ what makes it secret.”

Tony didn’t return the smile, eyeing him suspiciously. “Then why are you showing me?”

Stephen pouted before turning his attention forward. “Because I want you to know. And I want to show you.”

“Fine, but what _is it?_ ”

“Why are you trying to ruin the surprise? Just live in the moment.”

Tony was going to snap back, but then Stephen stopped in front of a lone door set into the stone wall. There hadn’t been a light in a while, so Tony hadn’t even noticed the door at first, but now it seemed blatantly obvious. There was no knob or anything Tony could see to open it. He wondered if there were magic words they had to say, but when he tried to ask, his voice caught in his throat.

Stephen didn’t bother to reassure him, lightly setting two fingertips on the door and tracing swift, sharp lines in a hexagonal shape before laying another one over it at an angle. The shapes glowed pale blue, the light reflecting off of Stephen’s eyes like a cat. The door seemed to hesitate before opening, sliding into the wall and leaving a space for them to walk through.

Stephen gestured to the doorway. “After you.”

“Um, no. I don’t want to die—”

Something pushed his back, knocking him forward and through the door into the walls. Stephen followed, the door shutting behind him. They were alone, in a completely lightless hallway. There was just enough room for Tony to stretch his arms out to the sides, feeling the rough-hewn stone walls.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony muttered, glaring in what he was pretty sure was Stephen’s direction. “Strange, if I could see you right now, I would punch you.”

“I know.” Stephen’s hand gently urged him forward, pressing against his lower back. Tony flinched at the touch, the feeling of Stephen’s fingers on him somehow penetrating layers of clothes. “You’ll forgive me.”

“Don’t count on it.” But he started forward anyway, if only because he literally didn’t know where else to go. He heard Stephen behind him, his thick leather boots loud against the floor. There was a slight incline leading down. Tony felt like he was walking to Hell, to the center of the earth. “Are we going underground?”

He heard Stephen shift. Nodding? “Not too far. We’ll be there soon.”

“ _Where’s there?_ ” Tony demanded, his voice echoing around him, growing louder and louder before suddenly evaporating. “I feel like I’m talking to a wall with you!”

“You have to trust me,” Stephen said calmly once Tony’s echo quieted again.

Tony’s arms had erupted into goosebumps under the robes, even though it was no colder below ground than above. He rubbed his hands over the fabric, trying to warm up.

Stephen stepped in front of him, his body brushing against Tony’s. He shivered before the sorcerer took his hand, pulling him forward. “I’ll lead.”

Despite his rising fear and anxiety, Tony scoffed. “You don’t seem the type.”

He was pretty sure Stephen smiled. He could feel it.

Stephen started walking again. Tony followed, almost out of instinct.

He-half expected the corridor to open into some kind of fiery hell-pit, but when they finally saw light again, it was in soft, oceanic shades of blue and green. Black walls opened into a cavern. It wasn’t the tallest ceiling he’d ever see, but it was enough that Tony had to strain to make out the top. The room had been cut into the earth and stone, shaped into a hexagon or mandala. The walls were lines with hundreds — _thousands_ — of small drawers, black wood with gold paint decorating them with geometric flowers and lines. In the center of a room was a plain dais with three steps leading up to it, the entire thing made of the same pale stone as the ground. Bioluminescent plants lined the floor and roof.

Stephen, now visible in the light, bounded up the brief steps, standing in the center and staring up. Tony watched him from the doorway, not stepping in. “What is this place? What’s in the walls.”

“In the walls?” Stephen glanced at one of them before closing his eyes. “Ashes.”

“Oh.” Tony stared at one of the small, inconspicuous drawers. “Whose?”

“Fallen sorcerers,” Stephen said casually. “We bury their remains here. They give strength to Kamar-Taj. One day, I’ll be buried here.” He frowned. “I wonder if you will. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“. . . Are you planning to bury me here _now_?”

“No,” Stephen said softly, seeming kind of out of it, almost trance-like. “Come stand with me.”

“Yeah,” Tony said haltingly, still standing on the edge of the chamber. “Not sure how I feel about that—”

“Please, Tony.”

They stared each other down for a moment, Tony suspicious and more than a little nervous, Stephen openly pleading. Stephen’s eyes seemed even more multi-colored than normal in the strange light, flashing dark and light shades of blue, green, and grey.

Tony stepped forward without thinking or speaking, the movement almost unwilling. Stephen gave a small smile when he reached out a hand to the hero, helping him up to the dais. Tony looked up for a moment, taking in how the small glowing lights made the ceiling look like it was made of the night sky, before returning his attention to the sorcerer. “Don’t really know what to do now—”

Stephen’s hand cupped his cheek before he could finish his thought, ocean-eyes staring into Tony’s like they could see his soul and liked what they saw. His hands were shaking, trembling. Tony couldn’t take his mind off of the man in front of him if he wanted to.

“Stephen . . .”

A haze fell over him. Stephen swept forward, capturing Tony’s lips with his own in the long sought-after kiss. Stephen’s lips were soft. And kind of plush. Tony instinctively opened his mouth, forgetting that they were in a creepy cavern underground and forgetting what the Ancient One told him and forgetting Steve and the Avengers and forgetting everything that wasn’t kissing Stephen Strange.

At some point, his eyes drifted shut. He leaned into Stephen, engulfed in the softness of the sorcerer’s robes, his warmth. Stephen was well-practiced and plenty confident. His fingers brushed through Tony’s hair, holding him close as he explored the hero’s mouth.

And it was different from anything Tony had ever experienced before. Other-worldly, almost ethereal, kind of like Stephen himself in a way.

Then, it . . . shifted.

The ground below him fell away. He felt like he was floating.

. . .

He _was_ floating.

Stephen’s hands, one against the small of his back and the other on his neck, gently lifted him up into the air, helping shift him into a lying position. Tony barely felt him, barely knew it was happening. It felt like his consciousness was leaking out of his head. He was intimately aware of the billions of pounds of stone below them, all the way to the hot, pulsing core of the Earth. The bioluminescent plants seemed to watch him. Staring. Hearts beat around him, around the world. Odd forces connected each of them, the hearts and the plants and the rock and the fire, some of them ever-shifting and changeable, others as steadfast as the mountains they governed. Energy, magnetism, force, gravity. An interconnected system of life and unlife he’d never thought to imagine.

“What is that?”

“What, Tony?” Stephen’s voice was a universe away, but Tony clutched it close anyway, the single known sound grounding him in this sea of the unfamiliar.

“It’s like . . . burning. And collapsing. Growing. Like I’m dying and being remade.” Was he crying? He was pretty sure those were tears, somewhere on the face of his distant body.

Stephen thought of it a moment before answering. “That’s the sun, Tony.” He brushed aching fingers through Tony’s hair, even though he probably couldn’t feel it. “It’s strange, feeling it all for the first time. What’s it like?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never. It doesn’t feel _human_.”

“It’s not,” Stephen said simply, a faint smile gracing his lips.

“I feel like I’m . . . _growing._ Like the space that exists isn’t enough to hold all that I am.”

Stephen nodded. “That’s the universe, Anthony. It’s expanding.”

“. . . Oh.”

Stephen chuckled, staring down at the hero who’d occupied his mind for so long. And now, seeing everything come together . . . “ _This_ is what I want for you, Tony. To share this with you. To _give_ this to you. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It is.”

Stephen stood behind him, leaning forward to press his forehead to Tony’s, fingers still tangled in the other man’s dark locks of hair. “Do you get it now, Tony? Do you understand? This world was made to be seen by your eyes.”

“Was it?”

Stephen nodded, breathing in Tony’s scent, sweat and the faint smell of leather and oil, getting weaker with every day spent at Kamar-Taj. “The world is yours, Tony, to have and protect. You can reach out and take it in hand.”

“Okay.”

Stephen smiled. “And once it’s yours . . .” He could see it all clearly now, Tony by his side as Earth’s _King of Kings_ , the Avengers gone and buried, and the entire world laid out at their feet. He shivered in delight. “No one can take it from you.”

“What about you?”

Stephen chuckled. “Don’t worry. No one can take it from me either."  
  



	14. A New Initiative

Stephen panted underneath him, head thrown back on his pillow. His neck, long and pale, was oddly appealing. Tony remembered staring at it more than once in battle, wondering what it would be like to leave a necklace of bruises around that throat. Now, he does just that, holding Stephen by the nape in his back as he sucked dark hickies into the skin, a beautiful dark purple color coming to life under his tongue and teeth. Stephen’s eyelashes fluttered, his hands held above his head and out of the way. His cheeks were flushed pink. His eyes seemed darker than normal, space-blue and emerald-green and full of love and lust and trust.

Tony leaned back on his legs to look down at him. Stephen’s robes were open to expose his chest, the rich blue fabric framing his unmarked skin. His boots and socks had been hastily kicked off and his belts torn off, but other than that, he was still dressed. Tony felt almost vulnerable by comparison, stripped down to his plain boxers. His chest was scarred from where the arc reactor had once rested. Every now and then, Stephen raised a hand and traced those white lines with shaking fingers. When he did, his eyes were wide and worshipful.

“I’ve waited for you,” Stephen whispered, his breath hitching when Tony pressed a hand into the sorcerer’s pants, wrapping it around Stephen’s steadily hardening erection. He rolled his hips, whimpering. “Please, Tony.”

“Please what?”

Stephen stared up at him, his eyes pleading. “I don’t . . . I don’t know. Please. I want to feel you. Let me feel you.”

Tony shushed him, leaning down to nip at his pulse point. “Okay.” He began pulling Stephen’s pants down as the sorcerer began wriggling out of his robes, dropping them to the floor. Stephen was naked then, flexing on the bed before growing still, gazing up at Tony. The hero cleared his throat, eyes roaming Stephen’s body before returning the sorcerer’s stare. “Okay.”

Stephen turned his head to the side, stretching out an arm until it found the drawer on his nightstand. He opened it, digging around for a moment before pulling out a clear plastic bottle that Tony immediately recognized.

Tony took the bottle when Stephen held it out to him, opening it and squeezing lube into his palm. Stephen watched with bated breath, pupils dilated so large that his irises were only a dark ring of color. Tony dove forward and stole Stephen’s lips in a kiss, wrapping his slick hand around Stephen’s shaft at the same time. Stephen melted into him, his entire body loose and pliant underneath Tony’s expert, worshipful hands.

Tony’s nose wrinkled, touched by a barely-there tickle of magic. When Stephen’s own hand, hardly shaking, reached forward and took hold of Tony’s own cock, he realized that it had been the sorcerer removing the last piece of clothing that separated their skin.

Tony shivered at the touch. Stephen moved, wrapping his arms around the hero’s neck and pulling him back on the bed properly. Their bodies were pressed together, Tony tucking his head against the sorcerer’s neck and worrying another bruise into the pale skin. Stephen shifted, a gentle thrust of his hips nudging their cocks closer together, rutting against each other.

It wasn’t an inferno, like Tony always imagined sex with Stephen would be. But it was _warm_ and rhythmic like the ocean and it made something warm and bright come to life under his skin, so like how the sun had been when he felt it only an hour earlier. It felt _right_. Now that he had Stephen, he wondered why he’d ever resisted. This was how it was _meant_ to be. Stephen had just seen it earlier.

Stephen stiffened, grabbing Tony by the small of his back and digging his nails in. “Tony,” he whispered against his lover’s jaw, soft lips moving over the stubble. “ _Tony._ ”

Tony nodded mindlessly, moving his own hips faster, the sensations building in his cock and chest until it was almost too much to bear. He pressed his forehead to Stephen’s, kissing him until he it felt like he couldn’t breathe. “I’ve got you. Let go, I’ve got you.”

Stephen’s hand wrapped around their erections, spreading the lube that Tony had used. His eyes shone as he stroked them. “ _Tony . . ._ I’m going to—”

“I know,” Tony muttered back, “I know, keep going, keep . . . _Stephen—_ ”

They came at the same time, legs tangled up, bruised lips pressed together. Stephen whimpered, his entire body growing tense before suddenly relaxing, like a puppet with its strings cut. Tony did the same, peppering the sorcerer’s face with feather-light kisses.

Normally he’d feel stupid at being so shaken from something so simple — they hadn’t even fucked really — but it was impossible to feel stupid when Stephen was looking at him like that. Like he was more beautiful than all the galaxies in the universe.

Tony finally rolled over so he wasn’t lying on top of Stephen, although it wasn’t worth much in the tiny bed. Stephen curled up next to him, burying his head in the crook of Tony’s arm and looking up at him, his smile visible from the moonlight steadily streaming in. “I’m glad we’re finally together,” Stephen said quietly. “I feel like I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

Tony chuckled. “Good sex will do that.”

“I mean it,” Stephen said insistently, eyes turning serious. “When I was a child, I dreamt of running away to New York. When I was an adult, I did. Now I think I was running to you, even if you weren’t there yet.”

Tony felt his heart beat and pulse before he leaned forward, pulling Stephen into a slow, soft kiss. “I’m here now. No more running.”

Stephen’s eyes softened, but he didn’t return to his calm giddiness. “You’ll have to leave soon. You have to go back to the tower and the U.N. They need you.”

The words hit Tony like a slap to the face. He knew it was true, but he hadn’t thought of it in days now. It seemed like an invasion to this perfect bubble of happiness they shared. He didn’t _want_ to think of it.

“With Rogers and the others gone,” Stephen said slowly, not looking him in the eye anymore, “they need you now more than ever. You’re their defender. One of the only ones they have with any real power now.”

“You’re here,” Tony pointed out. “Isn’t part of your job to protect the world?”

“Sometimes,” Stephen allowed. “Against other-worldly threats that are a danger to everyone, sorcerers included. But we’re not _heroes_ , Tony. We fight for our own lives and power. They need _you._ ”

Tony scoffed. “Some hero I am. Rogers knew it. Why do you think he left me in Siberia?”

“Because he’s a coward and a dick. Seems obvious.”

“No. He knew. I’m not hero material. I split the Avengers, almost killed Barnes—”

“Steve Rogers did a _thousand_ times more to hurt the Avengers than you. And you only reacted the way any normal person would to seeing your parents’ killer right in front of you after _seeing_ them be murdered.”

“I let Ross and everyone mess with the team. I got people killed in Sokovia. I can’t protect the Avengers, and I can’t protect anyone else—”

“You sided with the Accords because you care about protecting people _so much_ , it broke you to see people get hurt because of something you thought was your fault.” Stephen sat up slightly, cupping Tony’s cheeks as he stared into the Avenger’s eyes. “But Tony, don’t you see? You were wrong. You don’t _need_ the U.N., or anyone else. You’re chosen.”

Tony frowned, wondering how the conversation had veered so wildly off-track. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you get it? Why your arc reactor was in the _Book of the Vishanti_? Why _Agamotto himself_ spoke to you? Why there’s an entire prophecy about us?” He took one of Tony’s hands in his, lacing their fingers together. Tony could feel the raised scars that covered them. “Sorcerer and Avenger, other-worldly magic and human technology. We are _meant_ to defend and lead the world, _together_.”

Tony frowned, not entirely getting whatever point Stephen was trying to make. “I got that. That’s what I want to do—”

“No, Tony. Not just defend the world. _Lead it._ Make the hard choices no one else can.”

Tony shook his head, finally seeing what Stephen meant. “I’m not a _dictator._ I can’t just go over everyone else’s head! That’s how Sokovia happened—”

“Sokovia happened because the red bitch got in your head and changed what should have been a defensive measure against dangerous enemies _into_ a dangerous enemy. Because someone else interfered and messed with what you _knew_ to be right.” Stephen’s eyes were alight and fiery, no long the color of the ocean, but of the stars. “Tony, you were chosen by a being that is for all intents and purposes _a god_ to do just this. You’re unsatisfied with the Accords? Go above them. The Avengers left you? I’m here. So are the other sorcerers. You don’t trust yourself, you think you need guidance? Go to the Ancient One; she’s been defending this world longer than the rest of them combined. The power is waiting for you. Just reach out and take it.”

Tony shook his head, but he couldn’t deny the words were having their effect. Could he really expect Ross to actually _help_ them defend the planet? He’d known from the start how unlikely that really was. But still . . . “I can’t just decide I’m in charge. It’s _insane_. Other people’s will—”

“Other people don’t know what’s good for them. They’ll shoot themselves in the foot then yell at you for not taking the gun away. So what does it matter? At least they’ll be alive to hate you.”

Tony wanted to laugh, but instead he shook his head. Stephen pushed on. “Tony, I know it’s a lot. Probably more than you’ll ever be willing to do. It would change . . . everything. But since when have you been scared of change? You’re the visionary, Tony. The man who can change the world for the better.” His free hand slipped down and over Tony’s chest, finding the scars where the arc reactor had once been. He traced them with trembling fingers. “And you won’t do it alone. And I’ll be right there, protecting you, fighting beside you, always. You won’t be alone anymore.”

Stephen watched carefully as Tony considered his words, deliberating. This was the tipping point. Either Tony would finally join them _properly_ , fulfill the promise Agamotto had made to the sorcerers centuries ago and deliver the Earth into their hands . . .

Or Stephen would have to turn back time and try something else.

Again.

When Tony finally looked at him, he knew he wouldn’t have to. “What do you want me to do?”

* * *

“Stark, I want to know where you’ve been and what the hell is going on—”

Thaddeus Ross cut himself off as he came to stand in the Compound’s conference room, several other agents and representatives behind him stopping at the same time. They started to voice their confusion before freezing, everyone staring at the exact same thing.

Tony Stark was there, the first time anyone had seen him alive in more than two weeks since the disaster with Rogers and the other Rogue Avengers. Stark, standing up and behind the head of the table with his back to them, seemed surprisingly fine considering no one knew where the hell he’d been or if he was even alive. He was dressed neatly in a dark suit, hair carefully combed, resting one arm on the table. But he was not the one who’d drawn their attention.

Stephen Strange, one of the Avengers’s worst and most persistent enemies, was sitting in the chair next to Tony, leaning back casually. His expression was an odd mixture of smug and serene. Ross recognized that look. It was the face of a man who’d won handily and was now content to sit back and watch his opponents panic and scramble to catch up, knowing that they didn’t have the barest chance of recovery.

Ross stared at the sorcerer for a long time, stunned, before finally managing to choke out a few words. “Stark . . . what is the meaning of this?”

Stark finally turned around, showing the blue-green color of his tie. His left hand had an Iron Man gauntlet-glove on. “Oh, hey Ross. You’re aware of the good doctor.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Stephen said, still smiling.

Ross started to back up, wary. “I don’t know—”

“Didn’t expect you to,” Stephen interrupted. “Why don’t you all take a seat?” The remaining chairs gently pushed out from the table, apparently of their own accord. “We have much to discuss.”

Ross looked at Tony when he responded, feeling the sorcerer’s stare on his face. “Like what?”

Tony set his hands on the table, shooting a look at his new partner. Stephen smiled back reassuringly, as though giving Tony permission to speak. “My new . . . initiative.”

“A new _alliance_ ,” Stephen said. He stood up, eyes gleaming with triumph. “The Avengers united with the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj to protect Earth. Forever.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so ... you may have noticed that I finally set how many chapters there are going to be ... and it's because this is the second-to-last one, so yeah.
> 
> The thing is, I could probably stretch this out, show the whole political and takeover elements and whatnot, but I don't feel like this story needs that. It's more about Stephen and Tony's relationship and how Stephen changes Tony, and it doesn't really need so much more.
> 
> So ... one more chapter!


	15. . . . And All Was As It Should Be

Stephen walked across Kamar-Taj’s courtyard with an easy grin, nodding occasionally at the sorcerers he passed. Mordo was there, looking out over a sea of novices with a steely gaze before ducking his head and smiling slightly when Stephen stuck his tongue out at him. Stephen brushed past his old friend and under the trees, making his way inside of the main temple. Anyone who walked past him bowed their heads, muttering their respects to _Sorcerer Supreme_ Stephen Strange. He smiled harder.

The deeper he went into the temple, the fewer people he saw. He passed the Ancient One’s quarters and thought of stopping . . . but no, now wasn’t the time. In another minute, he opened the door to his new rooms, the sigils he’d drawn earlier immediately locking it for him once he was inside. He levitated a date from the bowl on his table over to his hand, absently taking a bite as he sat down on his bed and pulled out his laptop and opened his emails.

There were a dozen new things from the past hour alone. Alerts from the security council, inquiries about the dissolution of the UN, reports on how the apprentice sorcerers were adjusting to their new jobs working alongside the heroes. He ignored most of them, filing them away to be dealt with later by someone else. He couldn’t care less about paperwork, not as a surgeon, not as a sorcerer, and not as an evil, all-powerful, yet still sexy mastermind. But one thing caught his attention.

He checked the wards and spells surrounding his room, reinforcing them twice before opening the message. It was short, only a few lines, and sent to him by one of the new novices he’d recruited just a few months prior. He read it three times before deleting the email and waving his hand over the screen, erasing any proof of the message’s existence that might have lingered. Then he lay back in bed and smiled.

Renna bowed deeply when Stephen arrived at the holding cell ten minutes later, her new purple robes brushing against the stone floor. “Sorcerer Supreme.”

“Dear Renna,” Stephen said sweetly, waiting for her to stand back up properly. “You have him?”

The young Master of the Mystic Arts nodded. “Yes, sir. He’s waiting for you.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that. But go ahead and open the door.”

Renna did so, standing out of the way so he could walk in. Stephen felt the door shut behind him, and the room descended into a darkness so complete he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face.

He stepped forward until he could feel another person’s body heat seeping into his own. He raised his hand and snapped. A small flame came to life at his fingertips, allowing him to see the person in front of him.

“Hello Mister Rogers,” Stephen said cheerfully. “How are you?”

Steve Rogers didn’t answer him. It would have been hard to. There was a metal bit in his mouth, and it was dirtied by dark red blood mixed with saliva. His hair was dirty, soot-coated with dark brown strands mixed with the blonde. There were cuts on his face, all closed and healing by now, but not for long. What remained of his suit was in a similar state, torn, tattered, and covered in dust and grime. The room itself was made of pale, rough-hewn stone already covered in rust-colored bloodstains. The shackles around Steve’s wrists and ankles made it so he couldn’t move beyond a foot of the wall they were attached to. They would shorten them later.

Finally, Steve looked up at him, pale eyes seeming dark in the lighting. He didn’t say anything.

Stephen pouted. “What? No witty remark? Last words? Swear you’re gonna get out, get revenge, etc.?” Stephen chuckled, shaking his head. “No. I guess that’s more Tony’s thing than yours, isn’t it? You could put in an effort, though. Try and grab me, kick me, spit on me, definitely that last one—”

Steve lashed out suddenly, making an abortive attempt to grab at Stephen’s fragile hand. The sorcerer stepped back before he’d even started, laughing. “Well, it was a nice try.” He leaned forward, not _quite_ close enough for Steve to touch him. “Did you know that you’re the last one?” He saw the hero’s eyes dimmed. _“_ Yeah, you know.”

Stephen took a step back, knowing that there would be time to gloat later. “You’re going to die in here, Captain America. Just like the others.” He dropped his hand to the side, and the flame went out. “Sleep well.”

* * *

Stephen closed his eyes, green light growing dim before disappearing completely. The Eye of Agamotto turned cold under his touch. He let it fall still against his chest, no longer caring as a smile slowly grew across his face.

_Yes. I think I’ll choose that future._

His eyes flicked down when he felt Tony shift against him, his hero rolling over in his sleep. _Nightmares._ He’d have to revisit that spell. It would quickly grow inconvenient if Tony woke him up every night.

And, he admitted to himself, he didn’t like seeing the pain on Tony’s face when his demons haunted him.

He brushed his fingers over Tony’s soft hair and forehead, sensing the dark tendrils of nightmares and casting them away. Such things had no place in their future.

Tony shifted again, eyes blinking open in a daze. Stephen cursed internally, having not wanted to wake the hero up. He barely got enough sleep as it was.

Tony didn’t seem to mind. He looked up at Stephen, smiling softly. “Hey, you. Can’t sleep?”

Stephen shrugged. “Busy. Too many thoughts.” Not exactly a lie, but far enough from the whole truth that Tony wouldn’t consider it suspicious.

He didn’t. “Yeah, you’re not the only one with that problem.” He wrapped a hand up in Stephen’s hair and pulled him down for a kiss. “Get some sleep, okay? Even pretty wizards need it.”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “Yes, dear.”

“Whatever asshole.” Tony snuggled under his blankets, laying a hand on Stephen’s hip. He was drifting off again, Stephen’s magic a warm, low glow in his mind when he murmured, “Love you.”

This time, Stephen’s smile was small and honest. He leaned down to kiss Tony’s forehead, pulling the blankets over both of them. “Love you too.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus comes the end to Synergy.
> 
> I really loved writing this fic, even if things got a bit rough towards the end on my end there, and I'm so happy that so many people enjoyed it. Thank you to everyone who left a kudos or a comment, you guys always kept me going and made my day, and I hope you all enjoyed this last part!


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